


i still want to be your girl

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Minor Violence, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Five years ago, Jenny Calendar ran from Sunnydale and didn't come back. Now, with the First threatening Sunnydale and the Slayer line, she's returned to help stop the apocalypse--but Rupert Giles isn't the man she remembers, and he isn't exactly delighted to have her back in his life again.





	1. can't find the man i was waiting for

**Author's Note:**

> fic + chapter titles taken from _poetry by dead men_ by sara bareilles, because i was listening to it a few months ago and my brain immediately started mapping out this fic.
> 
> i've wanted to write this thing for quite a while!!! i'm extremely excited about it.
> 
> edit: if y'all want a playlist for this fic, [here](http://suan.fm/mix/SJFY6YTbH) is the one i made.

Willow stopped the car just outside Sunnydale, looking furtively and nervously into the backseat. “Just so you know,” she said. “Giles—um, Giles—”

Jenny pressed her lips together. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No,” said Willow slowly. There was a strange guilt in her eyes. “But—”

“Whatever it is, then, it’s fine,” said Jenny shortly. She wasn’t ready to think about seeing Rupert again for the first time in five years. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to see Rupert again at _all._ “Can we just—” She waved a hand, and noticed, vaguely, that it was shaking.

“You okay?” said Faith from the front seat.

“ _Fine,_ ” said Jenny sharply. “Willow, could you please start the car?”

Willow looked so much older, and something about that just _hurt._ The brave little girl who always raised her hand in class—she had been the one thing about Sunnydale that Jenny had let herself miss. Now there was a tired, jaded young woman in the front seat of the car, looking steadily and sadly at Jenny like _Jenny_ was the one who needed to do some growing up.

And, sure. Maybe Jenny did. She’d cut her ties and run, just like always, with no intentions of ever coming back. But she hated that her pupil had outgrown her, and so she directed her attention back to her lap, gritting her teeth and trying not to think about the inevitable, painful reunion coming her way.

Willow started up the car again, turning on the radio to fill the silence. She flipped from a news station— _rash of unexplained murders, so we’d suggest—_ to a sports station _—be nuts not to lock him down, he’s a closer—_ to smooth jazz that soothed Jenny about as much as nails on a chalkboard. Jenny turned her attention to the _Welcome to Sunnydale_ sign, glaring resentfully at it as though it was at fault for her own bad decision.

She didn’t entirely know what her bad decision had been. Either it had been a mistake to leave, or it was a mistake to come back, and whatever it was, it was making Jenny miserable. She wished she’d just turned Willow’s bright eyes down, stayed with Angel and the crew back in the Hyperion—but the easy comradery of those first few years were gone, now, stolen along with baby Connor _long_ before Angelus had come out to play. Too many things had broken in Jenny’s life; it felt easier just to leave LA.

_Always cutting your losses, Janna._

Up ahead, the door of a pick-up truck opened and a girl tumbled out, rolling across the pavement and leaving an unpleasant splatter of blood. The truck kept driving. Willow, with a gasp, slammed on the brakes, jumping out of the car and running to the girl. Faith followed.

Though she did unbuckle her seatbelt, Jenny stayed in the car, trying her best to pretend that all she felt was tired emptiness. She’d seen a hell of a lot of death in the last five years, and _couldn’t_ hold yet another dying girl’s hand. She’d done it time and time again. Demon-killing wasn’t quite as magical or virtuous in LA as it had always seemed in Sunnydale.

Willow was scooping up the girl, bringing her back to the car, and Jenny realized with a twist of distaste that the girl was probably going to go in the backseat. She stood up, taking this opportunity to get out of the car—

“She’s hurt, but she’s alive,” said Willow shakily. “We’re going to have to hit up the hospital before anything else. Jenny—?”

“No,” said Jenny flatly. Her hands shook; she shoved them into her pockets. “I’ll walk. I’m not riding in the car with a dead body, Willow.”

“She’s not dead,” said Faith, giving Jenny that same strange, assessing look. “Though this whole conversation probably isn’t really helping her chances. And it won’t kill _you_ to sit in the back of the car with—”

“Then  _you_ do it,” Jenny snapped, and stormed back to the car, yanking the door roughly open and sitting down in the front seat.

“What the _fuck_ is her problem?” said Faith, almost impressed.

Willow didn’t answer. She was looking at Jenny sadly, tiredly, like Jenny had let her down somehow.

Jenny shut the door and stared out the window, turning the radio back to the sports talk show. They were rehashing the basketball game from the night before, one she’d watched while she packed to leave LA. _“Should have been an easy win,”_ one of the guys was saying, _“but they got a little too cocky—”_

She turned the radio off and pressed her cheek against the cool glass, watching Faith awkwardly carry the girl to the car. Her heart caught at the way the girl’s arm dangled, fingers half-curled—god, this time the faceless, dying victim was a _kid._ A little slip of a thing, gutted and bleeding for no real reason at all.

Faith put the girl in the backseat, wiped her hands on her pants, considered, and opened the passenger-side door. As Jenny fumbled to balance herself, Faith sat down on Jenny’s lap, then buckled them both firmly in. “No way am I sitting back there,” she said flatly. “Chick needs her space and we need to get to a hospital as fast as we can.”

“On it,” Willow agreed.

Jenny couldn’t bring herself to look at the girl. “How bad is it?” she said unsteadily.

As Faith pulled the car door shut, Willow floored the gas. “Not fuckin’ great, all things considered,” said Faith. “But if I’ve lived through worse, I feel like she’s got a solid chance.”

“Something’s killing potential Slayers,” said Willow, eyes on the road, hands shaking. “This must be one of them.”

Faith blew out a breath. “Shit.”

“That’s the gist of it,” Willow agreed.

Jenny thought about a thousand and one little girls like this one, bleeding out on highways and on sidewalks and in the wreckage left of their lives. She turned her face away from Faith and held her breath, because that was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t cry. The need for oxygen won out eventually, though, and she drew in a sharp, shaking breath that made Faith startle a little. “Sorry,” Jenny said, still staring resolutely out the window.

She remembered bits and pieces of the streets she was seeing, but memories started _really_ coming back when they were about three blocks from the hospital. She’d dragged Rupert here every other week, because otherwise he really would just try and pretend that his injuries didn’t exist; he had had a concussion, once, and talking him down from going in to work the next day had been possibly the _most_ difficult challenge of her life—

“We’re here,” said Willow. “Faith, can you—”

Faith unbuckled the seatbelt, hopped off of Jenny’s lap, and she and Willow set to getting the girl out of the car. Jenny got out of the car as well, mostly because it didn’t seem safe to sit alone in an unlocked car at night ( _especially_ not in Sunnydale), and said, awkwardly, “Should I—”

Willow straightened up, studying Jenny, then said, “Faith and I can get her in safely. If you want to head over to Buffy’s and let them know we’re coming, that’d be…that’d be good.”

It was literally the last thing Jenny wanted to do. The only thing that had kept her certain she’d be able to handle seeing Rupert again was the buffer of Willow and Faith. But coming to Sunnydale was the choice she’d made, and hiding from Rupert would just make her feel worse. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Hold up,” said Faith, who had just handed the girl off to some extremely concerned orderlies. “Before you kick off, Jenny, I wanna talk to you for a sec. Will, could you give us a moment?”

Willow looked a little surprised, but obliged, following the orderlies into the hospital.

Faith gave Jenny a Look. “So you’re acting more batshit than usual,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I—” Jenny swallowed.

“And how come Willow started trying to tell you about Giles?” Faith persisted, then stopped. “Wait,” she said. “ _Wait._ Are you that chick Giles was all hung up about?”

“What?” said Jenny slowly.

Faith rolled her eyes a little. “When I was in Sunnydale,” she said, “first time around, I made some crack to B about Giles never dating. And then B got this _look_ on her face and said that Giles had dated some flaky bitch who fucked things up and left everybody else to clean up the mess.” She looked deeply impressed. “Are you the flaky bitch?”

 _“Did_ Buffy call me a flaky bitch?” said Jenny, amused.

“You know I’m paraphrasing,” said Faith, waving a dismissive hand. “Point is, she _thought_ you were a flaky bitch.”

“Oh, I’m totally a flaky bitch,” said Jenny, now two seconds from laughter.

“Fuck off with that negativity, sister,” said Faith, punching Jenny’s shoulder a little too hard. “All I’m tryin’ to figure out is why you’re somehow even _more_ of a mess than usual. Which is saying a lot, ‘cause when I met you, you were busy barricading yourself in a hotel bedroom to make sure Angelus wouldn’t get at you.”

Jenny felt her smile fade. That hadn’t been a very fun few weeks. “I should go,” she said. “I just—I need to get this over with.”

“Jenny—” Faith bit her lip, then reached out, awkwardly patting Jenny’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m not gonna admit this to anyone back in LA,” she said, “but you kick ass, and I kinda like you. If there’s anything I can do to make this easier—”

“You really can’t,” said Jenny, shrugging Faith’s hand off. “It’s gotta be me.”

* * *

Jenny walked. It was a pretty long walk, and two vampires tried to get the jump on her, but she staked one and knocked the other into a jutting-out tree branch, which made her feel a little bit more confident about her ability to manage talking to Rupert for the first time in five years. Last he’d known her, she was the kind of idiot who picked up ranged weaponry without knowing how to use it. Now, she…still didn’t know how to use a crossbow, but that was beside the point. She could hold her own with a vampire pretty well.

Angel had taught her that.

Angel had trained her, when he wasn’t training Cordelia. It had been—it had been Angel, throwing punches. Making jokes to try and catch her off guard. Making her laugh.

God. Fuck.

Jenny thought about Angelus, grinning at her through those bars a few weeks ago, whispering what he’d wanted to do to her that night at the school. She thought about Angel, living with that knowledge in his head, those vivid, visceral images of the way Angelus had planned on hurting her. Treating her with that playful, polite regard like he didn’t have a thousand and one _plans_ for her. The monster existed in the back of his head—so did its memories. So did its _wants._

She had been the only one who hadn’t been glad to see Angel back. She’d packed as fast as she could, and honestly, she’d probably left some stuff behind. Maybe it had been easier for everyone else, getting taunted about their romantic liaisons and their insecurities and trivial stuff like that, but Angelus and Jenny had had history and he had known how to exploit that. She couldn’t look Angel in the eye without thinking about Angelus grinning at her, whispering _he dreams about snapping your neck,_ curling cold hands against the bars of his cage like he wished he could squeeze the life out of Jenny instead.

Firmly, she turned her mind away from Angel and towards Rupert, but that didn’t really help. Her memories of Rupert were faded and sugar-sweet; a gentle, tender man with strong hands and sweet eyes and a way of smiling a little every time she kissed him. But five years had passed, and she felt pretty solidly certain that, like Willow, Rupert Giles would not be the man she remembered. Seeing him again would mean facing the consequences of her actions head-on, and Jenny had never been able to do that.

 _Apocalypse,_ she reminded herself. _Girls in danger. World to save._

It was the kind of thing Angel had taught her to do— _keep your head in the game, Calendar,_ he’d always shouted in the middle of a fight, _never forget what the stakes are—_ and it somehow made her miss _him_ too. Strangely, missing Angel felt more real than being scared to see Rupert again, and it grounded Jenny enough to walk the rest of the way to Buffy’s house, quietly climb the porch steps, and ring the doorbell.

There was a scuffle of activity from inside the house—the clatter of voices—and a strangely familiar teenager with long, straight hair opened the door. Her eyes widened, and Jenny abruptly recognized— _Dawn._ Little Dawnie, barely a middle schooler the last time Jenny had seen her, now tall and lanky and almost grown-up.

“Hi,” said Jenny, unsure of what else to say.

Dawn stepped back, mouth agape. “Ms. _Calendar?”_ she said, _very_ loudly.

All of a sudden, all the background voices in the house went quiet. From the living room, Xander Harris poked his head out, saw Jenny, and had to grab the doorframe for support. At the top of the stairs, a few girls Jenny didn’t know were observing her with a variety of curious expressions. In the dining room—

In the dining room, standing slowly up from the table, eyes on hers, was a worn, battle-scarred man that it took Jenny a moment to recognize.

* * *

Over the last five years, Jenny had clung to her memories of Rupert Giles, preserving them in order to hold them close. Rupert Giles had round glasses and laugh lines and didn’t seem able to stop himself from smiling when she entered a room. Rupert Giles held himself nervously, such that you almost didn’t notice how tall he was until he scooped you into his arms. Rupert Giles melted at a single touch; he made a soft, shy noise if you told him you liked being around him.

Rupert Giles was _gentle._ He was a gentle, kind man at his core.

This man—the one looking at Jenny with a kind of stunned blankness—this man was not a man that Jenny knew, or wanted to know. He took a step forward, gripping the doorframe pretty hard himself. She was half-expecting him to say _Jenny_ in that soft, sweet voice, half-expecting him to say _Ms. Calendar_ with the cool tones that had characterized the end of their relationship, but he just kept looking at her, not saying anything at all.

“Uh,” said Xander, as always taking it upon himself to try and cut the tension, and as always, making it worse. “Dawn, do you want to order a pizza? I think we were talking about pizza—”

“ _Two_ pizzas!” said Dawn, a slightly hysterical note to her voice. “Let’s make it two pizzas! The Potentials sure do eat a lot, and if we add Ms. Calendar to the dinner table—”

“Hi,” said Jenny helplessly.

Rupert didn’t smile. “Hello.”

“So, uh, apocalypse?” There were tears stinging Jenny’s eyes. She’d expected Rupert to demand explanations, to harangue her for leaving, to stammer through angry accusations, but this was—

“News does travel fast,” said Rupert, still unsmiling. “Especially considering no one had the faintest idea where you were for the last five years.”

“LA,” said Jenny, hugging her arms to her chest. “I was helping Angel for a little while there. Willow showed up when Angelus got loose again—it was a whole ordeal, but it’s totally fine now—and she said you guys might need some extra help down here, so she brought Faith. And I came along. Because, you know, five years, I’ve kinda gotten a whole lot better at the supernatural scene. Can’t shoot a crossbow, still, but I can throw a punch pretty well—” She realized that she was babbling, and turned a miserable shade of red, shutting her mouth and looking down at the floor.

“Well,” said Rupert. Then, “Dawn, I do think two pizzas would be appropriate. Jenny—” Jenny’s head snapped up at the informality, but there was still no trace of _anything_ in his eyes, “—you’re of course welcome to stay here if you like, but there really isn’t all that much space as is.”

“I can make do with pretty little,” said Jenny, twisting her hands. “And I’m honestly not that hungry. Had a bite to eat on the way here.”

“Do you have bags?”

“I think they’re still in the car with Willow and Faith,” said Jenny. She winced. “And the, uh, potential Slayer who got stabbed?”

Rupert’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry?”

“We got to her in time!” Jenny clarified hastily. “Willow and Faith are with her at the hospital. They sent me ahead to alert you guys. Is Buffy—?”

“On patrol,” said Rupert. “Thank you for notifying us, Jenny.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jenny.

All of a sudden, she just couldn’t stop _looking_ at him, and it just didn’t stop _hurting._ He was greyer, more lined, and he held himself with the rigid exhaustion of a man who had shut himself away from absolutely everything. There wasn’t a trace of the shy, tentatively loving man who had stolen Jenny’s heart without even trying—no fumbling or flustered stammering upon seeing a lady who’d left him in the lurch. This was a Rupert Giles who had done nothing but fight for the last five years, and it showed.

“Is there anything else you need?” said Rupert, looking up at her, still with that unreadable expression. Five years ago, she’d have been able to read him like a book—or a web article, as it were.

“No, I—no,” said Jenny, heart aching, and hurried past him, through the dining room, into the kitchen, unable to think of anything past _out._ She opened the back door, stepped outside, and found herself sitting down on the Summers’ back porch, staring out at the clear night sky.

She had never imagined it would feel like this. She’d imagined the hurt, she’d known she had left things unresolved, but she’d always pictured the pain coming from five years of pent-up resentment on Rupert’s part. To know that he’d retreated so far into himself, that suddenly _she_ was the one all unmoored and desperate and looking for any sign the guy she loved was okay—

Jenny dropped her head into her hands. She missed—she didn’t know what she missed. She missed that feeling of _connection,_ the one she’d had in Sunnydale long ago, the one she’d had in LA before it all went to shit. She’d known that it would hurt to return to Sunnydale, but she never thought that coming back to the very first place she’d let herself call home would end up making her feel so goddamn _alone_ —

“Hey, weirdo,” said Faith, dropping to sit down next to her. “Just got back from patrol _and_ being punched. How’d your night go?”

Jenny raised her head to look at Faith. “Bad,” she said.

Faith laughed, a quiet, bitter sound. “Yeah, I think that’s just Sunnydale,” she said. She paused, then continued, “Y’know, you never did tell me how you became a flaky bitch in one of B’s anecdotes. Kinda guessing it’s the reason your night sucked so hard.”

“You’re really not going to let that one lie, huh?” said Jenny.

Faith shrugged. “You’re the only person here who doesn’t either hate me or mostly hate me,” she said. “Guess it makes me wanna know a little more about you.”

That seemed as good a reason as any to tell Faith the truth. ““Rupert and I were dating,” Jenny said. “I was in love with him.”

“So what, you left town because he didn’t love you back?” said Faith. She seemed too intrigued with Jenny’s story to remember how to be her usual acerbic self, and so the question came out more curious than biting.

Jenny didn’t know if she could answer that question. She decided to compromise. “I left town because Angelus tried to kill me,” she said. “We used Willow’s copy of the ritual to give him his soul back, but it was three weeks of my hard work that made that ritual usable in the first place.” She smiled a little wryly. “And you know how Angelus feels about people trying to give him a soul.”

“Not great,” said Faith.

“Yeah,” said Jenny. “He showed up late at night, and I was alone. I ran out of the lab, and—usually all the doors were locked, but I got a lucky break. I made it to my car and I drove and I just…” She trailed off. “I couldn’t go back,” she said. “I was too scared to go back. So I had a friend of mine pick up my stuff, and I called Snyder to resign, and that was it.”

Faith considered. Then she said, “Does anyone but me actually know why you left?”

“No.”

“You planning on telling anyone?”

“No.”

“Fuckin’ dramatic of you, but all right,” said Faith, leaning back against the porch banister. “I get it. Not like I’m gonna go crying to Buffy about how my shitty parents are the reason I killed a whole bunch of people.”

“What  _did_ happen with you and Buffy?” said Jenny. When Faith’s easy smile flickered, she added, “You got that Angelus story out of me, Faith. I think I’m entitled to some honesty from you.”

Faith didn’t look too happy about it, but nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Guess so. Uh, I—” She swallowed. “I was in love with Buffy,” she said. “Like, full-on, Disney movie level love. And I was a dumb teenager, and she had a boyfriend, and it just kept on burning me up inside. I told everyone it was jealousy, that I wanted to be the kind of chick she was, but…” She trailed off. “I mean, sure, I’d give anything to be even a little bit like Buffy,” she said. “But a lot of that’s just ‘cause I love her so much.”

Jenny wished they knew each other well enough for this to feel like an important moment, something that bound them together in friendship and lonely solidarity. But she only barely knew Faith—only well enough to laugh at a few of Faith’s off-color jokes, sometimes—and so she just kind of nodded. It wasn’t exactly friendship, but Faith understood how she felt. That was still important, Jenny thought. Hoped.

“What do you think we do?” she asked.

Faith shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’m kinda in this for the long haul,” she said. “Can’t help myself. I’m not that dumb little kid I used to be, but the way I feel about Buffy…” She blew out a breath. “You can’t just shake that kind of shit off,” she said. “Sure as hell wish I could.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, and thought of Rupert. “Only one year together, five years apart, but all of a sudden—”

“—all you wanna do is be back with them,” Faith finished. “The way you used to be.”

Jenny could remember a time when Rupert would slip his hand into hers in the hallways, furtively, glancing around to see if students and staff were paying attention. It had always made her laugh, and he would grin a little too, because even though he was nervous he always liked seeing her happy. The warmth between them had been tangible, and it had made her chest _ache_ with happiness.

“Do you ever wonder if it was _really_ as good as you thought it was?” she asked, her shoulder bumping against Faith’s as she shifted on the step.

Faith seemed to consider the question. “No,” she said. There was an almost childish note to her voice. “No. It just was that good, at least for me. At least for a little while.” She smiled up at the sky, an uncharacteristic softness to the curve of her lips. “She was something else, y’know,” she said. “Still is. Maybe not _all_ the same chick I remember, now, but I can’t help loving this new scary Buffy too.”

Jenny wished she could be like Faith, young and romantic and already bouncing back from a heartbreak. She wished she had fallen in love as young as Faith, because then she would have already experienced this kind of hurt. But Rupert had been her first love, and seeing him so different, so jaded…she couldn’t accept him quite as easily as Faith seemed to have accepted Buffy.

“I should go inside,” she said. “Gotta figure out where I’ll be sleeping tonight.”

* * *

 

Rupert was on the couch when Jenny came back inside. He looked up, and she met his eyes, and for half a second, she could almost pretend that nothing had changed between them. But then he let his gaze drop to his hands, saying, “There’s an extra sleeping bag in the hall closet. I’m afraid there really is nowhere else but the kitchen, at least at this juncture—”

“It’s fine,” said Jenny. “It’s seriously—I’ll just—” She turned to go.

“Jenny?”

Jenny turned, heart in her throat.

Rupert didn’t say anything for so long that Jenny thought she might have imagined his saying her name. Then he swallowed, looked back up at her, and said, “I’m sorry, but if you’ve come here looking for—for some kind of closure—”

God, Jenny _so_ did not want to hear the end of that sentence. She turned on her heel and left the room.


	2. how can i make you remember?

Jenny woke up sore, achy, a little too cold, and because Buffy had tripped over her in an attempt to reach the refrigerator. This was, Jenny thought, probably the worst possible way to reenter Buffy’s life—as a trip hazard. “Hi,” she said, sitting up in the sleeping bag. “Um, did Ru—I mean, did anyone mention I was here?”

“No, and I’m honestly kinda pissed about it,” said Buffy. She too had grown up in the last five years; the petulant anger Jenny had been expecting was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a flat resignation that seemed out of place on a bright, vibrant girl— _woman,_ Jenny reminded herself. “You here for the apocalypse?”

“Came down with Faith,” said Jenny.

“Willow could have mentioned that,” said Buffy. Then, to Jenny’s surprise, she sat down on the floor next to the sleeping bag. “Look,” she said. “I know we left things in a weird place.”

Jenny thought about Buffy’s furious deluge of emails— _coward, traitor, liar, how could you do this to Giles, how could you do this to US—_ and said, mildly, “You could say that.”

“What I really want to get across is that I don’t think I have time for high school grudges,” said Buffy. “I’m old enough to know that it wasn’t your fault Angel lost his soul, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand why you _still_ decided to leave Sunnydale.” As Jenny opened her mouth, Buffy held up a hand. “And I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t have time for apologies, okay? Show me that you’re here and useful _now,_ and we’ll be fine.”

This was the exact last thing Jenny had been anticipating from Buffy. “Okay,” she said. “So we’re—”

“On the same team,” said Buffy, and gave Jenny a small, worn-out smile. “Honestly, Ms. Calendar, I think I kinda just need someone who _is_ on my team right now. Plus you kinda get points for being the only person to leave _Giles_ in the lurch.”

The note of bitterness to Buffy’s voice surprised Jenny. “What’s been going on with Rupert?” she asked. “He’s…not the man I remember.”

“Yeah,” said Buffy. “Me either.” She got up, turning to open the refrigerator door. “Do you want pancakes?” she asked. “I was thinking of making some for breakfast today.”

“Pancakes sound nice,” said Jenny. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Buffy turned again, studying Jenny with a genuinely sad expression. “Ms. Calendar, I don’t know what made you leave,” she said. “But if Giles is the reason you came back, you’re not gonna want to know the kind of person he turned out to be, okay? So please, just—” She exhaled. “Please don’t ask me about Giles,” she said. “I kind of just want to have _one_ person in this house who didn’t screw me over as hard as everybody else, and right now you might be that person.”

Jenny stared. “What the hell  _happened_ while I was gone?” she said, standing up in the sleeping bag and nearly overbalancing. “Even if Rupert’s all weird and distant now, you’ve still got your sister, your _friends—_ ”

“Dawn’s my _baby_ sister,” Buffy said. “She’s always going to be the one I’m looking out for, not the other way around. And my friends…” She trailed off. “You really have missed a lot,” she said. “And it’s not a lot I want to rehash all over again. Do you want pancakes?”

“I already said that pancakes sound nice,” said Jenny. She unzipped the sleeping bag, stepping out of it and running a hand through her hair. “I can help you make them, if you want.”

“Uh, no thanks,” said Buffy, looking genuinely amused. “Unless you learned to cook in the last five years?”

“Touché.” Jenny took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge. “Where are the glasses?”

“Top cupboard,” said Buffy, just as a sleepy, rumpled Faith entered the kitchen. Both of them stilled, and a charged, awkward moment passed before Buffy said, a slight blush lingering around the apples of her cheeks, “And i-if you want toast, Ms. Calendar, I can—”

Faith exited the kitchen, going out the back door and into the backyard. Through the kitchen window, Jenny saw Faith adjusting herself into a fighter’s stance, then beginning to throw strong, slow, precise punches, practicing her technique with a graceful rhythm.

Buffy had stopped talking, watching Faith with a distant, all but longing expression. Feeling almost as though she were intruding, Jenny quietly exited the kitchen, heading—she wasn’t sure where. Not there, mostly.

She bumped into Rupert in the hallway.

“Oh!” said Jenny, and braced herself against his chest without thinking. Rupert flinched back from her hands as if burned, eyes wide and hurt, and the genuine vulnerability in his expression cut Jenny to her core. “Oh,” she stammered, “oh, I—I’m sorry, I—”

Rupert drew in a tiny, shuddering breath, then pushed past her and into the kitchen. Jenny heard the unsteady cadence of his voice, heard Buffy’s cool, distant response, but couldn’t for the life of her register what they were saying, because—

She had touched him, and he’d looked at her like—like no one had touched him in five years. And all of a sudden, Jenny was thinking about the man she’d left, the man she’d known—gentle, yes, and absurdly lovable, but also absurdly inclined to sequester himself away in the stacks if there wasn’t someone to drag him out. The kids hadn’t done that for him, obviously; it hadn’t been their responsibility, and it would have been a little strange for them to try and do it anyway. Jenny had always been the one to bring him out of himself, to touch him, to make sure he wasn’t starved for affection in the way he had been when they’d first met—Jenny, who had _left him—_

Oh, fuck, she thought. Oh, _fuck,_ and she buried her face in her hands.

* * *

 

In Jenny’s first year working alongside Angel, he’d taught her how to fight. It was an important skill, he told her, one that would serve her well in their line of work, and he didn’t want her having to rely on her ability to run. And, yeah, there had been an awkward moment where they _knew_ they both were thinking about that terrible night in Sunnydale, but then he’d moved towards her and she’d punched him square in the face.

He’d come up laughing. _That’s it,_ he said.  _Just take them by surprise._

Fighting made Jenny feel in control. Jenny the gentle computer science teacher had relied on her intellect to keep her alive in Sunnydale; Jenny the semi-employed detective’s assistant had only allowed herself to rely on weapons. It was easy to let Wesley be the tactician; it meant she didn’t have to immerse herself in old books, thinking of all those nights spent doing exactly that with her first and only love. In LA, she learned what it felt like when an ensouled vampire popped your shoulder back in, when you were skewered through the stomach in a swordfight with a demonic bounty hunter, when there was blood in your mouth and your head was spinning from the blows you’d taken. Violence had scared her, back in Sunnydale; it had always been something meant to be handled by the Slayer and the vampire-with-a-soul. But all she had had, back then, when the chips were down and Angelus was ready to snap her like a twig, was the ability to run like hell—and in LA, she had found a place she had been _determined_ to stay in, this time around.

She’d sort of thought that being able to fight would mean that she wouldn’t be afraid—and for a time, it _had_ meant that. It had been incredible. Really, though, fighting had been a distraction, a justification to herself that there was at least _one_ thing she’d improved on in the last five years—and right now, after seeing that stricken look on Rupert’s face, she _really_ needed to remind herself of that. She didn’t even know how to _begin_ to untangle whatever it was that had broken between them, but she knew that there were ways she might be able to try.

Jenny landed a hard punch on the bag downstairs, grateful that the Potentials were all up and eating breakfast. Her knuckles were beginning to sting, her hair falling out of its haphazard updo—but the discomfort distracted her, taking her out of herself long enough to focus on where to aim her next blow.

“Jesus,” said Spike from the cot. Jenny jumped; she’d all but forgotten he was there. “Last I saw you, you were a tiny little thing tripping over herself to get out of the line of fire.”

“Yeah, well, last I saw _you,_ you were a sadistic son of a bitch,” said Jenny archly, turning from the punching bag to look, eyes narrowed, at Spike. “I’m gonna trust there’s a damn good reason you’re here?”

“Well, aren’t you a whole lot more forgiving than your Watcher-boy,” said Spike, giving her a slow, amused smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Nobody told you?” he said. “Rather thought Buffy might.”

Jenny thought, again, of that split-second look on Rupert’s face when she’d touched him. “What…” She almost couldn’t ask. She felt as though Spike wasn’t the right person to ask—but everyone else seemed incredibly affected by whatever it was that Rupert had done, and the cavalier, disinterested way Spike referred to Rupert made Jenny suspect that his was the least biased perspective. She mustered up her courage. “What did he do?”

“Tried to kill me,” said Spike mildly.

“Oh,” said Jenny. She frowned a little, cocking her head. “Is that a _bad_ thing, now?”

“Well, I have a soul,” said Spike, as nonchalantly as one might talk about the weather. “And Buffy’s been pretty vocal about me being an important part of the team, but that wasn’t quite enough for the Watcher. He went behind her back with the kid of a Slayer I killed, and he tried to distract her so the kid could kill me.”

Jenny stared.

Spike tilted his head back a little. “S’pose I’m probably not the right person to hear it from,” he said, almost sympathetic. “But I don’t think anyone else’ll tell you without mincing words or getting angry, and I think you deserve better than that.”

Jenny felt almost dizzy. Rupert. Rupert conspiring against Buffy, the girl he loved like a daughter. Rupert _hurting_ Buffy, undermining her judgment, alienating himself from the children without even seeming to really care about the distance he’d created…she had never imagined him to be so cold and callous as to do something like that.

But he wasn’t. She had seen the look in his eyes when she had touched him—frightened and miserable and painfully lost. Whatever this was, it wasn’t as cut-and-dry as everyone else seemed ready to believe, and Jenny found herself _determined_ to get to the bottom of it.

“Ms—Calendar, isn’t it?” Spike was now watching her with a wary concern. “Look, I told you because you deserve to know. But don’t go chasing him down trying to fix him, all right? I know enough about broken men to know it’s not always that simple. The people who get hurt the most are usually the ones they love.”

“Then I don’t think I’ll end up hurt at all,” said Jenny grimly.

“God, you’re an idiot,” said Spike, falling back onto the cot. “Did my best.”

Jenny turned back to the punching bag, a complex, unsettling mix of emotions spurring her to throw a hard kick. She spun, then kicked the bag again, trying to remember what Angel had said—what was that thing he’d always told her about angling her foot as she kicked? It wasn’t like she could call him, anyway; she didn’t know _where_ they stood after the things Angelus had whispered to her, _about_ her—

“Who taught you how to fight like that?” said Spike, suddenly indignant.

Jenny turned. “Angel,” she said, half-defensive.

Spike snorted. “Of _course,_ ” he said scornfully. “Big fella doesn’t have any experience with fighting things bigger than him. Listen, you’re fighting like you’re trying to knock someone down, and you’re too tiny to manage that. Best you’ll do is get them off you, give you enough time to run away.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” said Jenny stubbornly, resentful at the thought of having to admit a shortcoming.

“No, look—” Spike stepped forward, squaring up, eyes alight with interest.

 _“What_ are you doing?”

“Been bored out of my mind down here,” said Spike. “You’re the only remotely interesting thing that’s been happening. Seeing the Watcher all clammed-up and miserable feels _quite_ good, ‘specially after he tried to kill me.”

Jenny decided to ignore that. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. So what am I supposed to do?”

“React,” said Spike, and lunged.

Jenny wasn’t quick enough. Knocked to the floor, Spike’s hands pinning her shoulders down, she gasped an indignant, “That’s not fair!”

“Don’t tell me Angel had you fighting _fair—_ ”

“Whoa,” said Faith. “Am I interrupting?”

“You know what?” said Spike, jumping up, then helping a wincing Jenny to her feet. “Bet Faith’s a bit better at this than I am. She had to learn to fight dirty with her size before she was ever a Slayer—she’ll know more of the tricks than I do.”

“How do you know that?” said Faith, glaring a little at Spike.

Spike shrugged. “You seem like the type.”

Faith didn’t contest that. Looking a little dubiously at Jenny, she said, “You sure you’re up to train with a Slayer?”

“I trained with a vampire for four years,” said Jenny. “I think I can handle—”

Faith threw a punch. Jenny only managed to dodge it in time. “Now, listen,” said Faith, “I’m gonna hold back a _little,_ but not a lot.” She twirled gracefully—an almost ballerina-like move—and kicked Jenny hard in the gut, knocking her down to the floor. “Shit, Jenny, you went down _fast!”_ Faith laughed, incredulous.

Jenny pulled herself to her feet, took a steadying breath, and said, “I get up faster.”

Spike whistled appreciatively. “Now _this_ I’m looking forward to watching,” he said, sitting back down on his cot. “My money’s on the Slayer, but I’m all right with being surprised.”

Jenny tried a kick of her own. Faith dodged it effortlessly, with enough time to add a flourishy, showy hair flip. “Aww, honey, you don’t have to be gentle with me!” she teased. “I’m a big, strong Slayer—”

Jenny tackled Faith.

Possibly, Jenny considered, the reason that Faith hadn’t been expecting this was that it was kind of a phenomenally stupid move. She only managed to get a few blows in before Faith flipped her over, holding Jenny down with Slayer strength. “Time me, Spike!” she crowed. “How long’d that take, five seconds?”

Jenny kneed Faith in the shin. Faith grinned, rolling off, but it was clear it was of her own volition. “ _Fuck,_ ” said Jenny, who was pretty sure she’d sustained more than a few bruises in their tumble to the floor.

“You are a total goddamn idiot,” said Faith happily. “That’s kinda all you need to be good at fighting.”

“Seconded,” Spike agreed. “Who the hell tackles a _Vampire Slayer?”_

Without getting up from the floor, Jenny raised a hand to flip them both off. Faith grabbed her hand instead, pulling her back up to her feet. “I’ve been working out for an hour or two already,” said Jenny, “I don’t know if I can go another round—”

“We can practice a little later,” said Faith, shrugging. “I’ll go easy on you for real next time. Probably gotta get better at teaching shit at _some_ point, right? Especially now that I’m part of some weird little baby Slayer club.”

“Potential Slayers,” Jenny corrected.

“Go get some ice,” said Faith, clapping Jenny on the back. “You probably need some.”

Aching and exhilarated, Jenny climbed the stairs, staggering into the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe. After giving herself a moment to breathe, she crossed to the fridge, rummaging for an ice pack.

From the dining room, she heard a soft intake of breath. Ice pack in hand, Jenny turned to see Rupert standing in the doorway to the dining room with wide, concerned eyes. “You look as though you were tossed about by a pack of Bringers,” he said, taking a tentative step forward. “Are you quite all right? I can—”

It was the most emotion he’d intentionally shown her since she’d arrived. Some idiotic, impulsive part of Jenny wished she had _more_ bruises for him to fuss over. “I’m okay,” she said awkwardly, unsure whether she should disclose how, exactly, she had received her injuries. If Rupert had wanted to kill Spike, he probably wouldn’t appreciate the concept of Spike tossing Jenny around, and Jenny _really_ didn’t want to make the Scooby dynamic more complicated and tense than it already seemed to be.

“You don’t look it,” said Rupert.

“These days, I never do,” said Jenny, and tried to laugh as she pressed the ice pack to her face.

“Hey, you coming back down?” said Faith, entering the kitchen from the basement and leaning against the counter. Jenny made a clear _shut-up_ motion, but Faith missed this, continuing, “For someone without Slayer strength, you take a punch _really_ well.”

Rupert’s eyes widened.

“I’m  _okay,”_ said Jenny, blushing. “I was just training. The basement’s the only place with a punching bag, and I needed to release a little tension.”

“Yes, well, I hope you weren’t too surprised by Spike’s presence,” said Rupert awkwardly.

“Considering he gave her a couple of those shiners, I don’t think she was,” said Faith helpfully.

Rupert went _white._ “I’m _sorry?”_

“Faith?” said Jenny thinly. “Poorly phrased.”

“Huh?” Faith looked between Rupert and Jenny, and her eyes widened. _“Oh,_ ” she said. _“Shit._ Sorry, Giles. Spike wanted to teach Jenny how to throw a punch, so they sparred a little.”

“Spike  _shouldn’t_ be sparring with—” Rupert stopped himself, pressing his lips together and staring at the counter. He took a slow, steadying breath, and when he looked up, his face was once again unnaturally blank. “I do apologize, Jenny,” he said. “On occasion, I forget that it has been five years since you left.”

Jenny stared at him, a warm, nervous feeling in her chest. Had he thought—had he been  _worried_ about her?

“See,  _now_ I’m curious about the lady you used to be,” said Faith, grinning at Jenny with a gently teasing look in her eyes. “You some kind of fragile Victorian waif, five years back?”

“I was never the type,” said Jenny, relieved at the excuse to shift the subject away from…whatever Rupert might have been leading into. Whatever it was, she didn’t feel ready for it. Not just yet.

* * *

Jenny was only learning bits and pieces about the First through briefings, but when Buffy told them about Caleb and his vague taunts, it sounded pretty obviously like something very evil was setting up the bait. Buffy seemed hell-bent on facing Caleb, though, and Jenny didn’t think she had the right to question Buffy’s tactics—not when Buffy had been the only Scooby to make it crystal-clear where Jenny stood with her.

Rupert didn’t seem to share Jenny’s qualms. “And you’re _certain_ this is the best course of action?” he pressed thinly. “You don’t even know what this man has of yours—if he, in fact, has anything.”

“It could be a girl,” Buffy persisted. “A Potential trying to get to us.”

At this point, Jenny was only half-listening. The lack of emotion on Rupert’s face was a painful distraction. And all of a sudden, some strange, impulsive part of her was remembering the worry in his eyes when he’d seen herbruised, when he’d thought she might be hurt—

“I could go,” she said.

All eyes turned to Jenny. “What?” said Buffy. Even _she_ looked thrown.

“I could go,” said Jenny again, earnestly. “Listen, Rupert’s right. We don’t know anything about what Caleb has, and throwing a whole bunch of untrained Potentials into the mix is pretty much exactly what this guy would want. If something’s killing Potentials, all you’re doing is giving them a prime opportunity to do it.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Calendar,” said Rupert, who had gone _white._ “I fail to see how you going is in any way an improvement on Buffy’s plan.”

“I’m expendable,” said Jenny. “If it’s something he wants us to come and get, he’s not gonna want to give it to someone as unimportant as me. At the very least, I’ll be able to ascertain what it is—”

“And what if he _kills you?”_ Rupert’s voice was sharp, now, eyes blazing in a way that wasn’t _anywhere_ near angry and dispassionate. _This,_ Jenny thought, a flare of triumphant warmth rising up in her, because she _knew_ this look, it was the one he got when he was pissed off enough to write a multi-paragraph essay about how goddamn _wrong_ she was— “I had assumed that Buffy’s plan was as rash and ill-thought-out as we would be getting tonight, but sending you in _alone_ to fight against an unknown enemy?”

“I wouldn’t be fighting,” said Jenny, and she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “I’d be investigating. Asking him what he wants in exchange for whatever he has.”

“Ms. Calendar has kind of a point,” said Buffy slowly. “This might be a lower-risk plan than the one I wanted to—”

“Do you _hear yourself?”_ Rupert roared, turning on Buffy with a fury Jenny had _never_ seen before. “Sending _one_ person in to face an enemy we know _nothing_ about? You might as well write her a death sentence, Buffy, you might as well _snap her neck yourself—_ ”

 _“Hey!”_ shouted Jenny, grabbing Rupert’s arm and pulling him back from a wide-eyed Buffy.

Rupert froze, eyes fluttering down to her tight grip on his arm, then back up to meet her gaze. Again, she saw his breath catch in his throat; again, she saw that helpless, hungry look in his eyes. But it was only for a moment, and then he jerked his hand away, bearing down on her instead. “Are you trying to make some kind of a _point,_ Ms. Calendar?” he demanded. “Do you _want_ to see me like this?”

“I want to do something with my life,” said Jenny, refusing to answer the question.

“By  _throwing it away?”_

“Stop it!” said Buffy. It wasn’t a shout, but the steel in her voice cut through their argument just as quickly as a shout might have. Facing Rupert, she said, “Giles, I’m in charge here. I’m calling the shots. If you don’t want Jenny to go in on her own, we’re going to have to take in the Potentials.”

“Buffy—”

“Giles,  _we are running out of time.”_

Buffy and Rupert stared at each other, and Jenny’s ember of happiness flickered. There might have been that old Watcher-Slayer affection there, somewhere, but it was buried too deeply under fury and resentment for anyone to make it out.

Rupert’s little girl, and he was looking at her like she was an enemy combatant. Nothing about this made sense anymore.

Not that it ever had.

 _“Fine,”_ said Rupert, an ungrateful concession. Buffy turned back to the group. Xander and Willow were already talking over each other to voice their grievances regarding the plan with the Potentials, and as Buffy listened to them, Rupert slipped quietly out of the room.

Jenny followed him. She didn’t know what she could say, or whether she wanted to say anything at all—only that he was still seething, visibly, and seeing him like this felt like she _knew_ him again.

Rupert turned. “You knew that was a foolish plan,” he said acidly. “Don’t you dare throw your life away out of spite for me.”

And Jenny couldn’t help it. She smiled. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, had to place a hand on the wall to stop herself from shaking, but she was too lost in the man she remembered to really care about any of that. Without a word, she looked up at him, drinking in the fury in his gaze.

Rupert’s eyes widened. Gone was the mask of cool detachment; Jenny had shocked him into forgetting he needed it. He drew in a shuddering breath, staring at her with a strange, confused sadness—and then he turned, hurrying down the hall and into the kitchen before shutting the door behind him.


	3. another near-miss

Of course Jenny went with them, in the end. What else could she do? As strangely promising as Rupert’s unexpected burst of emotion had felt, the thought of staying in the same house with him didn’t appeal to her in the slightest when she could be out killing things. There wasn’t much about this situation that she could control; fighting was something that she _could._

“What is this place?” said one of the girls from behind her.

Jenny was only half paying attention to Buffy’s answer, eyes scanning the shadows. Something about this felt just as wrong as Rupert had indicated. She was just beginning to feel that crawling sensation of being watched when they _were_ attacked, and _fast._ She sprung into action, placing herself between the Bringers and the girls without even having to think about it—slicing at one, chopping another’s hand off—and then, abruptly, the Bringers retreated again.

“Well, now,” came a Southern drawl. “You girls are just burning with righteousness, aren’t you?”

 _Oh, god,_ Jenny thought, _just wait until I tell Angel about this new flavor of lunatic—_ and then her heart seized, and she remembered that she and Angel were no longer on speaking terms. She couldn’t quite concentrate on the usual pre-battle banter, couldn’t be as present as she _should_ have, because suddenly she was thinking about Angel, and Rupert, and all the different things she’d broken by running away.

What did Angel think of her, now? He’d always said _you wouldn’t be able to handle the darkness,_ and she’d always said _shut up, drama queen, let’s go get something to eat before you brood yourself into Pylea somehow,_ and then she  _hadn’t_ been able to handle Angelus. She’d _promised_ to stay, and she’d _left,_ just like she’d left Rupert. He must be feeling so—

The weird-looking priest guy knocked Buffy flat across the room, and all hell broke loose.

Jenny definitely did not go after the priest guy. The girls were all fueled by rage and youthful passion, but she was more focused on trying to make sure that none of her people died horribly—which, as it happened, was easier said than done. Pretty much everyone in the building seemed determined to charge towards the priest guy and take him down, and Jenny found herself _really_ wanting to talk to the idiot Watchers who had taught the girls to treat their lives as less important than some stupid fucking cause. She sliced through a Bringer, then started hacking her way at another.

It stabbed its knife _hard_ into Jenny’s shoulder, pulled it out, and tried to stab her again. She _screamed_ , but swallowed the scream halfway. Gritting her teeth, Jenny dodged the second blow, working her way towards one of the more frightened-looking Potentials up against the wall—

There was an ugly _snap_ of bone, and Jenny whirled. There was a little girl dead on the ground.

There was. There was a little girl, and she was dead on the ground, and that fucking priest had his eye on another one of the Potentials. Jenny didn’t know the dead girl’s name, _or_ the living girl’s name, but she knew that she couldn’t just goddamn _stand_ there while that priest went around killing girls. She stepped forward, placing herself directly between him and the girl.

The priest looked at her with glittering eyes. “The runaway soldier,” he said. “You won’t atone for your desertion very well when you’re dead, you know, so why not turn tail and run one more time? It’s an open offer.”

Jenny thought of Rupert, and his helplessly sad expression. She’d put that there. She’d left him alone to wall himself away and pretend he had only ever been a Watcher, never a person. Dying wasn’t an _ideal_ way to make things up to him, she thought, but more and more she didn’t know what she offered the world by being in it.

Caleb grabbed Jenny by the throat.

 _“BUFFY, WE’RE LEAVING,”_ someone roared in the background, and all of a sudden Jenny was knocked free. As Buffy continued to beat up the priest, Spike pulled Jenny out of the fray, tucking her into his side. “Jesus fucking Christ, Calendar,” he said sharply. “You’ve got a masochistic streak to rival _Rupert Giles._ You two deserve each other.”

The pain in her shoulder hit Jenny with full force. She sobbed.

Distantly, as if from underwater, she could hear the sounds of the battle continuing—screams and clashes and unpleasant, meaty _thuds._ Spike pulled her outside and into the cool night air, forcing her to sit down, and began to clumsily unbutton her blouse. Shaking, Jenny leaned into him, trying to catch his eyes—but his attention was focused on her injury, and on pressing her balled-up blouse against it in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“Afraid we can’t know how bad it is till we get you to a hospital,” he said. “How do you feel?”

Jenny raised her eyes to his. “I don’t—”

Spike was very abruptly knocked sideways.

Jenny gasped mid-sob, clapping her hands to her mouth, and had to bite back another shriek at the _sharp_ pain that ripped through her.But Spike’s struggling was more indignant than panicked, and he untangled himself from his assailant with a kind of exasperated awkwardness.

 _“Rupert!”_ shrieked Jenny.

Rupert seemed practically insensible with rage. Eyes darting from Spike to Jenny and back again, he considered, then attempted to launch himself at Spike once more.

“Ease off, Watcher, she’s bleeding out!” Spike shouted, catching the front of Rupert’s jacket and pushing him up against the wall. “If you want to help her, then _fucking help her!”_ He dropped Rupert, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m _not_ in the habit of killing people,” he said sharply. “And I’m not suicidal enough to kill your ladylove after you made it _clear_ you’ve no qualms about killing me.”

Jenny didn’t have enough energy to process the absolute clusterfuck of events that was going on, and the pain in her shoulder was _awful_. She curled inward, shuddering, doing her best not to cry.

Familiar hands framed her face, tilting her head up to meet terrified green eyes. “Jenny,” Rupert whispered. “Look at me, darling. It’s all right. Please—”

Jenny looked up, breathing staggered and pained. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You know I’m sorry.”

“Kindly do not kill yourself in an attempt to make amends,” said Rupert very shakily. “I much prefer you alive to dead.”

“So we’re just gonna disregard the fact that your boy toy threw me up against a wall, then?” said Spike waspishly. “Fine. You know, I’m fond of you, Calendar, but I hope you know you have _terrible_ taste in men.”

“Noted,” said Jenny, and did her best to smile at Rupert. Halfway through, she felt another stab of pain, and grimaced instead.

“Up you get,” said Rupert softly, and tugged her into his arms, and— _oh._ Jenny would get stabbed like five more times if he’d always hold her this close. “Please don’t,” said Rupert somewhat unsteadily; Jenny realized, vaguely, that she had spoken her words as she thought them. She tucked her face into his chest, closing her eyes—

“Damn you, Jenny, _don’t_ die on me!” Rupert picked her up, awkwardly, holding her close in a bridal carry, and the quick shift sent a rush of pain to Jenny’s shoulder. She gasped, gritting her teeth, as they began to walk. “Listen—”

“I’m fine,” said Jenny. Her voice came out high and thready.

“You’d have been a bit more fine if I’d made it here in time,” said Rupert.

“The girls—” Another sharp stab of pain in her shoulder distracted Jenny; she gripped the front of Rupert’s jacket. “You were supposed t-to stay with them!”

Rupert didn’t answer. When Jenny looked up at him, she saw that he was very pointedly Not Looking at her, which made it _extremely_ clear what had brought him down here in the first place. _Not duty,_ she thought, _not loyalty—_ he was holding her _tenderly,_ and now that she wasn’t quite as dazed with pain, she could feel his hand rubbing quiet, comforting circles on her back as they reached his nearby car.

He opened the door a little awkwardly, setting Jenny gently down in the front seat, taking off his jacket to tuck it around her bare shoulders. He hesitated, looking at her with that same lost expression, then reached to tentatively touch her face, thumb stroking her cheek.

And here was the thing that Jenny really _would_ die if he knew: he was the only person she’d ever allowed to touch her like that. She leaned forward, towards him, pain and exhaustion dulling the rational parts of her brain—

Sharply, Rupert pulled back.

From behind them, Spike said, “Get _over_ yourself, Watcher. She’s mad for you.”

Rupert turned from Jenny and began to shut the car door. “She left _me,”_ he was saying, “not the other way round—” and then the closed door muffled whatever else he’d been planning to say. Tired and trusting, Jenny closed her eyes: as mad at her as Rupert was, she knew he’d make sure she was okay.

* * *

Jenny woke up in a hospital bed. _Where’s Angel,_ she thought, _he’s usually here by now—_ “Angel?” she said, her voice a little hoarse, and sat up. And then she remembered, with a miserable twinge, that she was no longer in Los Angeles, that Angel was no longer her crime-fighting companion, and that she’d been stabbed in the shoulder fighting a Bringer.

She scanned the unfamiliar hospital room. There were flowers on the nightstand. The door was ajar. And Rupert Giles was asleep in a chair next to her bed, cheek resting against the wall in a way that _really_ didn’t look ergonomically sensible.

Unbidden, she felt all that old love for him _rush_ to the surface. It startled her; she flinched, which sent another sharp pain through her shoulder. “ _Ow,_ ” she said, a sharp, tearful inhalation.

Rupert jerked awake. For a moment, his eyes were wide and warm, just as they’d been all those years ago. “Jenny?” he said, softly.

She’d broken his heart, she realized. She’d broken everything between them, effortlessly, by being too afraid to turn around. She could have come back two weeks later, and it would have been fine. She could have come back a _year_ later, and it would have hurt, but they’d have pieced things back together in the end. But five years of loneliness stood between them, and it was all her fucking fault.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It felt woefully inadequate.

Rupert looked at her for a long time, that quiet blankness sliding back into place. Then he said, “Lovely weather.”

Jenny stared.

“For an apocalypse,” said Rupert, and did a graceless, uncomfortable little shrugging thing. “At least it isn’t hailing.”

It took Jenny a moment to reply. The abrupt change of subject had been almost too much for her. “Does it usually hail in Sunnydale?” she said unsteadily.

“Not customarily, but I haven’t been back here in a year,” said Rupert. “Perhaps things have changed.”

 _That_ took Jenny by surprise. “You aren’t living here?”

“No,” said Rupert. “I have a nice flat in England. If I survive this, I expect I’ll be going back to it.”

Talking to him felt empty and joyless; a facsimile of their old cheerful banter. Jenny looked at him for another second, then looked quietly down at her hands. She’d done this. She’d broken—

“Your hair’s longer,” said Rupert. “I expected you to keep it short. Wouldn’t long hair during an apocalypse be horribly inconvenient?”

Jenny looked up at him again, slowly, her heart fluttering. His expression was still unreadable, but the pervasive emptiness in his eyes had vanished entirely. He was looking at her without hostility, and as though he expected her to answer his question. It took her a moment to reply. “Um, maybe,” she said. “Yeah. I guess I let it grow out a little after Angelus—” And then she stopped, swallowing. Talking about Angelus felt _way_ too close to talking about why she’d left LA.

Rupert almost smiled. “It suits you.”

Jenny didn’t really know how to respond to that. She thought she might be blushing. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” said Rupert, and hesitated, like he wanted to say something. “Jenny—”

“Ms.  _Calendar!”_ sobbed out Willow, bursting through the half-open door and skidding to a stop at the foot of Jenny’s bed. She looked like the fifteen-year-old Jenny remembered, then, shaky and miserable and small; it was hard to believe that this girl had almost ended the world. “Spike just told us—Buffy said—are you _okay?”_

“Just a flesh wound,” said Jenny, grinning. “I’ll be back in the field of battle in no time.”

“You shall _not,_ ” said Rupert sharply.

“Gonna play nurse for me, Mr. Giles?” said Jenny, looking up at him through her lashes.

Rupert narrowed his eyes at her. “I am not the easily rattled librarian you remember, _Ms. Calendar,”_ he said. “You aren’t going to flirt your way out of receiving medical care just to _throw_ yourself into the line of fire all over again.”

Whoa. Okay. Jenny hadn’t expected her heart to _soar_ at the way he was looking at her, but…Rupert Giles, laying down the law? She’d never have imagined  _that._ And she’d _never_ have imagined _liking_ it so much. Not that she intended on listening to him, obviously, but she couldn’t help appreciating his resolve.

“You  _have_ changed,” she said, and couldn’t keep the affection out of her voice.

“You haven’t,” said Rupert flatly.

Jenny felt herself turning a dull, ashamed shade of red. She looked down.

 _“Giles—”_ began a reproving Willow.

“I think I’ve stayed long enough,” said Rupert, and got up, quietly exiting the room.

Willow sat down on the edge of Jenny’s bed. She hesitated, then said, “The day we found your classroom, Ms. Calendar, there was blood on the doorframe, and Giles…he broke down crying. Right in front of the police and everything. He just fell down in the doorway and held on really tight to the doorframe and Buffy was the only person who could even get him to leave the computer lab. He was like that for three days until we got that email from you explaining that you weren’t coming back.”

Oh, Jenny thought. Oh, _god._ Five years. Five years, and she hadn’t even _considered_ those three days she’d spent panicking and crying and hiding in hotel rooms. Five years, and she hadn’t thought about the wreckage in the lab, the blood on the door, the shattered remnants of the Orb of Thesulah thrown against the chalkboard. She’d emailed him after three days, assuming he hadn’t even bothered to worry about the lab—assuming he’d believed her to have stood him up, and _that_ had been what had broken his heart.

“I’m not—” Willow swallowed. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Ms. Calendar,” she said. “I just think you need to understand what those three days did to him. I don’t know if the Giles you knew even _exists_ anymore.”

“I don’t care,” said Jenny quietly.

Willow looked up at her, eyes inquisitive and strangely hopeful.

“I don’t care,” said Jenny again. “Whoever he is, he’s still _Rupert_ to me.”

“I think you’re the only one who calls him that now,” said Willow, and moved up the bed to sit tentatively next to Jenny. “Buffy’s mom did, but Buffy’s mom died two years ago.”

“Oh—” That news caught Jenny like a sucker punch. “I’m—”

“It’s okay.” Willow rested her hand over Jenny’s. “It’s been a while.”

Jenny looked quietly up at her former student, the little girl who had always known the answer, and found herself looking at a tired young woman with ancient eyes. “It really has,” she said.

* * *

The injury wasn’t great, but it wasn’t _bad_ , which meant that Jenny only had to stay overnight for observation. Faith visited at midnight, telling a laughing, awkward story about things at the house— _shit’s tense after what happened to you,_ she said. _B’s not happy that Giles whaled on Spike for no reason._ And Jenny had felt a little ashamed at that, because technically, _she’d_ been the reason. It felt strange that Buffy didn’t know that, though it made sense that Rupert wouldn’t tell her.

Buffy visited in the early morning, waking Jenny up as she slipped into the room. She didn’t say anything, just sat down quietly on Jenny’s bed and curled into her side like a small child, staying there for only ten minutes before getting up and leaving again. Jenny had seen Buffy as a fearless, determined general over the course of the last few days; seeing her this vulnerable and sad felt profoundly heartbreaking.

The Potential Jenny had protected—a girl with a thick Cockney accent and reddish-brown hair—showed up to take her home. “My name’s Molly, by the way, ‘cause I know we haven’t really met before,” she said, shy and almost ashamed, as they headed towards the car. “I’m really sorry you took that one for me. Slayers are supposed to be better ‘n that.”

“He would’ve killed you,” said Jenny simply. “I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“You could’ve, though,” said Molly awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have blamed ya. Was my own fault, tryin’ to face off like I was a real Slayer. Should’ve left that one to Buffy.”

Jenny smiled a little wryly. “After Caleb killed that girl, I was probably gonna face off against him anyway,” she said. “I’m fighty like that.” She didn’t know whether or not it was true, but when Molly’s face relaxed, she knew it had been the right thing to say. “All I need is another day or two of relaxation, and I should be ready to go.”

“Mr. Giles says you push yourself too hard,” said Molly in a strange tone of voice.

Jenny gave her a sidelong glance, but Molly was looking casually ahead. “Has _Mr. Giles_ been talking about me?” she said.

“Dunno,” said Molly, but it was a little too breezy to be convincing.

“Molly?”

Molly huffed, then turned to look at her. “I can’t imagine _what_ you see in Mr. Giles,” she said. “He’s old, and boring, and he’s never said _one_ nice thing to _anybody._ I can’t imagine _anyone_ as nice and brave as you ever so much as _looking_ at him,even if Spike says he _was_ a different person five years ago!”

“Oh,  _Spike_ says?” said Jenny, extremely amused. At Molly’s blush, she couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, Molly,” she said. “It was a long time ago. I don’t mind talking about it if you’d like to know.”

“Do you _mean_ that?” said Molly, eyes alight with that terrifying teenage-girl desire for gossip. “Because I have _many_ questions about Mr. Giles.”

“Are you gonna use them to make his life hell?”

“Ma-aybe,” Molly hedged.

Jenny grinned. “Ask away.”

Molly then proceeded to grill Jenny about Mr. Giles’s sleeping habits, romantic proclivities, sordid past, and many other questions that sounded very much like they’d been lifted from a cheap romance novel. Jenny answered them to the best of her abilities (surreptitiously leaving out any information that had been given to her in confidence), but it was when Molly asked about Olivia that their conversation took an abrupt right turn.

“ _Olivia?”_ said Jenny.

Molly stopped, blinking bemusedly up at her. “Don’t you know?” she said. “Spike said Olivia was Mr. Giles’s girlfriend about two years ago.”

“Oh,” said Jenny. “Well. That’s.”

“ _Did_ you know?” said Molly, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Are you _jealous?”_

“Why would I be jealous?” said Jenny, who totally was not jealous in any way, shape or form. Nope. Absolutely not. She was a mature, rational, accepting, modern woman, and she understood that Rupert might have had other girlfriends over the last five years, because obviously he hadn’t been pining like some kind of lovesick moron for the last five years— _not_ that _she’d_ been pining, it was just that no one had _interested_ her, she’d totally have dated _someone_ if they’d stumbled into her life and called her _Ms. Calendar_ and given her that sweetly rakish grin—

“Spike said Mr. Giles probably has girlfriends back in England,” said Molly wickedly, in a way that suggested that Spike probably hadn’t said this at all. _“Heaps_ of them. And he’s pretty sure they’re models.”

 _“Well, good for Mr. Giles, then,”_ said Jenny, and picked up the pace, enough so that Molly had to jog alongside her.

* * *

Jenny was _so_ not jealous. Being jealous would imply that she’d been thinking about Rupert for the past five years, or _waiting_ for Rupert for the past five years, which was _ridiculous,_ given that she was the one who had _left—_

“So you’re looking chipper,” said Faith, cutting off Jenny’s increasingly miserable train of thought. As she looked up, Faith grinned, a cheerful, sideways smile that made Jenny feel strangely better. “Seriously, though. Glad to see you didn’t die of being stabbed. Think this’ll make the whole apocalypse thing a little harder on you?”

“I bounce back fast,” said Jenny lightly.

“Good to hear it,” said Faith. “You kinda killed it with those Bringers.” She sat down next to Jenny at the kitchen counter. “So hey,” she said. “You didn’t say _shit_ about Giles being nuts about you.”

“It’s complicated,” said Jenny.

“Doesn’t seem complicated to me,” said Faith. “The guy ditched his post _fifteen minutes_ after you all left to fight Bringers ‘cause he was scared something might have happened to you. And when you were under, B kept on trying to drag him out into the hall to yell at him for being irresponsible, but he just kept on yelling right back that he wasn’t gonna leave you till you woke up.”

Jenny was blushing. Was she blushing?

“Seems to _me,”_ said Faith, “that you two are being really fuckin’ dumb for no reason. I’d _kill_ for me and B to be as _complicated_ as you two.”

“Aren’t you?” said Jenny, who had been paying quiet attention to the way Buffy looked at Faith. “I don’t think it’s as one-sided as you seem to, Faith. There’s a chance there.”

“You’re pretty goddamn optimistic,” said Faith.

“So are _you,_ ” said Jenny. “I _left—”_

“So did _I,”_ said Faith. “And I don’t think she ever forgave me.”

“Could’ve also been the whole _killing people_ thing you had going on,” said Jenny dryly.

Faith frowned, considering, then shook her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “It wasn’t the killing that got to her. She was ready to forgive me for that. It was that I shut her out and I wouldn’t talk about it, ever, ‘cause I was afraid if I told her how scared I was, she’d tell me it was what I deserved. Felt like it was easier to be bad than to be _me_ and be hated for it, y’know?”

Jenny swallowed and didn’t answer.

Rupert entered the kitchen, wearing a sweater and a trench coat. Jenny found herself missing his soft sweater vest days; lately, he kind of just looked like a ruggedly miserable secret agent. He took off the coat, hanging it over the chair that Jenny was sitting on, and she felt his hand brush quietly against her uninjured shoulder. She turned to look up at him. “How are you feeling?” he said.

“Totally ready to get stabbed all over again,” said Jenny, and gave him her best winning smile. “When’s the next battle?”

“Not  _any_ time soon, for you,” said Rupert flatly. “You’re to stay out of battles for a week. Doctor’s orders.”

“I’m sorry, England, did the doctor specifically _say—_ ”

 _“My_ orders, then.”

“And since when have I listened to _you?”_

Faith was watching this interchange with rapt, gleeful attention. As Rupert opened his mouth to retort, she said with delight, _“Damn,_ Giles, this is the most interesting I’ve _ever_ seen you!”

Rupert started, then turned his attention to Faith, frowning bemusedly. “Have you been there this whole time?” he said.

Faith’s smile twisted into something a touch more bitter. “Like you’d notice if I had been,” she said. 

To Jenny’s surprise, Rupert didn’t respond to that—just inclined his head, a quiet little _I deserved that_ without ever actually saying the words. He turned back to Jenny. “You’ll take a break,” he said, “and _like it.”_

“Fuck you,” said Jenny.

 _“You have,”_ said Rupert.

“Okay,” said Faith, still looking extremely amused. “You know what? I’m gonna give you two lovebirds some air.” Clapping Jenny’s shoulder, she hopped off her chair, striding out of the room.

“Don’t you try and boss me around—” Jenny began hotly. It wasn’t the bossiness that bothered her, it was the fact that he was acting like he _cared,_ like they were _fixable,_ like it _mattered_ to him whether or not she was okay—

Rupert looked at her, quiet and steely. “I’d be _quite_ surprised,” he said, “if you _ever_ reached a point where you gave a damn about what I wanted.” And with that, he left the room as well, not bothering to look back.

Jenny was left sitting there with a strange, leaden feeling in her stomach. She got up and poured herself a glass of orange juice, trying to focus on the slow, awful ache in her shoulder; somehow, a healing stab wound was _still_ less painful than thinking about everything she’d put Rupert through.


	4. this bridge you've burned

Entirely by accident, Jenny had won the complete adoration of the collective Potentials. Apparently, while she’d been in the hospital, Molly had told an extremely exaggerated version of Jenny’s confrontation with Caleb to literally every single Potential who hadn’t seen it go down, and now _every_ Potential had questions about what it had felt like to punch the stupid priest guy in his stupid face.

“Um,” said Jenny. “I didn’t?”

“She stood between me and _certain death,”_ Molly announced, throwing her arms around Jenny’s shoulders and beaming at the room at large. “He had those terrible eyes on me, and he was _smiling,_ and I knew I was gonna get my neck snapped, and then _there she was!_ Like some medieval warrior or somethin’!”

“Well,” said Jenny uncomfortably. “That’s—”

“Don’t  _smother_ Ms. Calendar, Molly,” said Rupert coolly, rummaging in the desk drawer.

“S’pose I shouldn’t be holding her _so_ close,” said Molly, grinning up at him. “That’d be your job, wouldn’t it?”

Rupert’s ears turned red.

 _“Molly!”_ hissed Jenny.

With extreme dignity, Rupert turned away, saying something to Dawn about the photo he had been examining. Jenny turned back to Molly, hoping like hell she wasn’t blushing herself, and found herself met with the rapt attention of absolutely all the Potentials.

“Ms. Calendar?” said one of the girls, a too-innocent look in her eyes. “Does Mr. Giles _like_ you?”

“Lay off, Kennedy,” said Molly. Jenny felt a surge of gratitude, but then Molly said, “Ms. Calendar is _hopelessly_ in love with him and he won’t even give her the time of day.”

“Oh  _no,”_ sighed one Potential.

“Oh, Ms. _Calendar,_ ” said another one, with the world-weary wisdom of a sixteen-year-old who had watched at least three romantic comedies. “Don’t you know you’re too good for him?”

Jenny doubted that _entirely,_ but had no intention of relating her romantic woes to a group of children. She knew how to play this game. “You know, that’s the tricky thing about love,” she said instead, pasting on her best, most playful smile and turning to the girls on the couch. “Here I am, a charismatic young lady in the prime of my life, pining away for a stoic antiquity who still hasn’t figured out how to turn on a computer. And yet!” She fell back, dramatically, into the sofa cushions, delighting in the giggling Potentials. “He is the darling of my heart, the rose in my garden, the mate to my soul—”

Dropping the magnifying glass, Rupert pressed his hands to cover his face. His shoulders were shaking. “Giles,” said Dawn, sounding alarmed. Then, in a very different tone of voice, “ _Giles,_ are you _laughing?”_

Jenny beamed, a blush rising in her cheeks, a delighted warmth in her chest. That was me, she thought. I made him smile. She averted her eyes from Rupert, _not_ wanting him to know that she was paying attention, and turned instead to the nearly hysterical Potentials. “Truly,” she said, “I could ask for no other sexily obsolescent ex-librarian.”

“Excuse me,” said Rupert in a strangled voice, and hurried out of the room. As the door swung shut, there was an audible wheezing giggle.

Dawn turned an _extremely_ smug expression towards Jenny. “Ms. Calendar,” she said, “I don’t think Giles has laughed like that since Buffy died.”

The mention of Buffy’s death—yet another thing that she hadn’t been there for—reminded Jenny, quietly, that things between her and Rupert were nowhere near okay. But she had seen him laugh, now, even though it was still just as stifled and muted as everything else he allowed her to see, and that changed the game up. She knew they’d never be in love again, not like they _were,_ but she could make him _laugh._ That _had_ to count for something.

Rupert Giles, she thought, you have _no_ idea what’s about to hit you.

The man in question re-entered the room, face still slightly pink, eyes still sparkling with mirth. He cleared his throat, attempting to clear his face as well, but it didn’t seem to be working as well as it had. “Ah, Dawn,” he said, “about that photo—”

“I’ll get Spike,” Dawn agreed. “He and Andrew can probably handle a little recon.”

“What?” yelped Andrew.

“So hey,” said Faith suddenly, glancing towards Jenny and the Potentials. “If you guys are off doing the big important mission, what are the girls supposed to do while we wait for news?”

Dawn shrugged. “Keep them occupied?”

“I’ll keep them occupied,” Faith agreed, a spark of interest in her eyes. “Think the Bronze is still open for a few more hours, and these girls _definitely_ need to get out of the house. Jenny, you wanna come with?”

Made bold by her small yet significant victory, Jenny said, “Only so long as Rupert does too.”

Rupert’s head snapped up, all traces of laughter gone. “I’m sorry?”

Jenny grinned, standing up. “ _Well,_ ” she said. “You _did_ make me promise to stay out of battles, didn’t you?”

“Out of the question,” said Rupert flatly, that distant mask sliding back into place.

But something had changed when she had seen him stifling laughter. _There,_ Jenny had thought, _there’s the guy I know,_ and now she couldn’t shake the thought that the softer, gentler Rupert Giles wasn’t gone after all. Hidden, maybe, to protect himself, but still _there_ somewhere within him. She stepped up to him, smile widening, feeling stupidly, extraordinarily brave. “Is it gonna have to be like five years ago?” she teased. “Am I gonna have to drag you out of the house, kicking and screaming, just to get you to have a good time?”

“Monster trucks are _not_ a good time,” said Rupert waspishly, and then looked a little like he wanted to kick himself.

Jenny crossed her arms and tilted her head. “C’mon,” she said.

“Things have changed,” said Rupert icily. “I’m no longer at your beck and call.”

“When were you ever?” said Jenny, honestly surprised.

This took Rupert very visibly off guard. “I-I assumed,” he stammered, and then swallowed, looking almost stunned. “You didn’t _know?”_

Jenny frowned. “Know what?”

Rupert didn’t answer. After a strange, strained moment, he said, “Fine, then,” and brushed past Jenny towards the door.

“Know  _what?”_ Jenny repeated.

Turning at the door, with the air of one going into a battle to the death, Rupert said, “Let us…go clubbing.”

* * *

 

The band at the Bronze was more loud than danceable, but the volume did have the advantage of drowning out Jenny’s nervous apprehension. Rupert had been still and quiet for the entire car ride, and this didn’t change as they entered the raucous, brightly lit nightclub. He did wince a little at the music, but that was his only visible reaction to _anything_ , and she was starting to seriously wonder what the hell had gotten him to agree to this in the first place.

The girls took to the Bronze with complete and utter delight, and Jenny found herself very glad that Faith had suggested an outing. They’d needed to let off some steam, she realized; they’d needed to feel a little more like teenagers and a little less like Potential Slayers. Already, she could see a few of the Potentials dancing, Faith and Dawn weaving their way towards the floor themselves.

It gave Jenny an idea. Turning expectantly to Rupert, she held out a hand, palm-up, and wiggled her fingers, jerking her head towards the dance floor. Rupert’s eyes widened; he looked down at her hand like he wasn’t entirely sure why it was there.

“Come on, England, you came out with us,” Jenny pressed. “You can’t stand in the corner like—”

Rupert took her hand. Not hesitantly, either. He took her hand _hard,_ fingers lacing with hers in the span of half a second, and locked his eyes with a dumbstruck Jenny. “What’s the matter, then, Jenny?” he said, and almost smiled. “It’s been five years. I give as good as I get, now.”

Jenny stared, utterly lost for words. She’d been expecting him to shut down, to close off, to stare at her with cold eyes and tell her that he wasn’t going to dance with the woman who had left him. Barring that, she’d been expecting him to stammer, falling back into their old patterns, showing _some_ level of weakness. But this—this was strength and warmth, all in one. It had knocked her sideways, and she didn’t know how to recover from it.

Pointedly, Rupert tugged at her hand; when she didn’t respond, he _pulled_ her forward, leading her onto the dance floor. Dawn stopped mid-twirl and fell into Faith, mouth agape; the Potentials sitting at a nearby table watched, wide-eyed, and turned to each other with giggly glee.

“Ms. Calendar, as I recall, you were a _marvelous_ dancer five years ago,” said Rupert. “Have you lost your edge?”

The song changed. It was still a fast, biting tune, which was good, because the mischievous light in Rupert’s eyes was getting under Jenny’s skin just as much as music could. She tugged her hand free and raised her hands to her hair, tugging out the pins and letting it tumble down her back. She saw the way Rupert’s pupils dilated; saw the slow, appreciative way he smiled. This was new. They had been a lot of things, but they’d never been quite like this.

In this moment, and in this light, he felt like a stranger to her, and it was what Jenny needed. She let herself move to the music, losing herself in the rhythm. She felt one of Rupert’s hands on her waist, for a moment, and then he was grabbing her hand to twirl her, and then he was pulling her flush against him—

Jenny tripped. Rupert caught her arm just in time, but this threw him off balance; he stumbled, knocking into another dancing couple. “Sorry!” he shouted, his voice cutting over the music in an embarrassingly loud way, and the moment was shattered.

Jenny couldn’t help it. She started giggling.

Rupert blinked, eyes wide and pleased, and then he started laughing too, gripping her arms as they awkwardly half-swayed to the music. He let go of her only when he was sure she was steady on her feet, and proceeded to try out a few comically graceless dance moves of his own, which made Jenny laugh _harder._ She doubled over, and he seemed to mistake this for falling, because he tugged her close again—

The song changed into something slower, the lighting warm and intimate. Jenny’s laughter died away as she realized how _close_ to Rupert she was, his hand resting at the small of her back, her hands pressed against his chest. She was smart enough not to lean up to kiss him, this time. Even in this wonderful, shining moment, she knew it was only a moment. The years spent apart, the hurt she’d inflicted—all of that wasn’t just going to dissipate after one magical dance.

Two magical dances. Though the effortless delight had vanished from his expression, Rupert hadn’t pulled away. He gave her a small, sad smile, splaying his fingers against the curve of her spine. “I missed you,” he said, softly. A concession.

Jenny reached up, sliding her hands up towards his shoulders, and rested her cheek against his chest. They hadn’t fast-danced before, but him holding her like this, the music playing in the background…it brought back all those ridiculous dances they’d chaperoned, just for an excuse to slow-dance together.

She couldn’t tell him _I missed you too._ She was so afraid that his face would close off, and he’d say _then why didn’t you come back?_ “I’m sorry,” she whispered instead.

“You keep saying that,” said Rupert, and hesitated, like he wanted to say something else. Jenny raised her head to look at him, and she couldn’t _help_ it, she was _hoping,_ she was _wanting—_

“Giles!” Dawn’s voice cut shrilly through the crowd. Jenny and Rupert jumped apart as if burned, and as Jenny was stumbling backwards, she saw it: Faith, being escorted outside by multiple police officers.

“Oh,  _no,_ ” she whispered, and pushed past Rupert, hurrying through the crowd. An officer was already guarding the closed back door, blocking the gaggle of worried Potentials from helping Faith. “Hey,” said Jenny firmly, squeezing between the Potentials to face the officer. “I’m Faith’s—” She thought fast. “Concerned aunt. Let me through so I can help.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” said the officer, raising his gun.

Something in his eyes didn’t seem _right._ Jenny was about to comment on this when Rupert, stepping up behind her, managed a quick, complex maneuver that somehow disarmed the officer _and_ knocked him out. “Right,” he said, opening the door for the girls. “After you.”

The Potentials ran to help Faith. Jenny was left facing Rupert, heart pounding. She turned to him in the doorway and said, “Rupert—”

But Rupert was looking at her blankly, placidly, like he hadn’t held her close and laughed with her and _smiled_ like she was someone he loved. And it _cut,_ now, in a way it hadn’t before, because she’d expected _something_ to have changed thanks to that dance—but she might as well have shown up in Sunnydale right at that moment, for all the good it had done.

He loved her, still, but he might never forgive her.

Rupert stayed there for a second longer, and then he followed the girls out. Jenny was left standing in the open doorway, watching him head towards the aftermath of a painful-looking fight. Buffy had showed up, and she was shooing the girls home; Jenny supposed she should follow.

She headed back into the Bronze instead.

The place didn’t feel quite as cozy and familiar as it had five years ago. The kids were kids Jenny didn’t know; the band was a band she’d never heard play before. She rummaged in her wallet and found more than enough money for a beer, so she got one, sitting down at the bar and watching the band play.

She hadn’t liked the music all that much, now that she was thinking about it. She didn’t really like it now. She took a long sip of her beer and felt a quiet yearning for _home,_ but the fact of the matter was that she still didn’t know where _home_ was.

This would have to do, Jenny thought.

* * *

 

It took her a very long time to reach Buffy’s house again. She was somewhere in the grey area between buzzed and drunk, and she’d decided to walk home alone, but that had turned out to be an iffy idea. She’d had to stake four vampires on the way. It had been annoying. Annoying, and possibly life-threatening, but who gave a damn whether Jenny lived or died? No one in Buffy’s house, that was for certain. That or _everyone_ in Buffy’s house, but only because Jenny hadn’t fucked them all over in _recent_ history. No one seemed to like each other in that house.

She ran into Buffy about a block from the house, heading in the opposite direction. Buffy was tearful, eyes blank and distant, and didn’t seem to notice her. Jenny found herself too tired to ask where Buffy was headed, because then Buffy might ask where _she_ was headed, and Jenny had no fucking clue how to answer that question. She kept walking, and so did Buffy.

Opening the door, Jenny found the house in disarray. Everyone was talking over each other, _everyone_ looked miserable and tense, and no one seemed to have any clear control of the conversation. “ _Hey!”_ she said very loudly, and all eyes turned to her. “What the hell _happened_ while I was gone?”

There was a strange silence. Then Xander said, “Buffy’s, uh,” and swallowed, ducking his head.

“Buffy had some ideas about going to the vineyard again,” said Dawn. “We didn’t agree, so we all decided it was best that she took a break.”

“Took a break?” Jenny repeated.

“Might clear her head,” said Willow nervously. “While we all figure out our next move.”

“So is she—but this is her house,” said Jenny slowly. “This is her house, and you’re just—what? All of you are staying here while she— _what_ is going on?”

There was another silence. No one seemed to have an answer to that.

But the thing that got to Jenny—the thing that got to her, and cut deep—was that no one looked sad about it, or guilty. Everyone just looked resigned, and confused, and like they were already moving on to the next piece of the apocalyptic puzzle. Tearful, miserable Buffy was a footnote; saving the world was more important. Willow and Xander, her _best friends,_ looked like they thought that kicking Buffy out of her house was _for the best._ And okay, maybe Jenny was missing _huge_ pieces of what had gone down, but the kids of five years ago had _worshipped_ Buffy. They’d _loved_ her. Even when they thought she was being impulsive, they’d never have kicked her out of her own home, or cast her out of the group. They would never have done that.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t stay here with these people who no longer loved each other. Jenny had loved them, _all_ of them, gentle Willow and goofy Xander and giggly Buffy and _Rupert—_

She sobbed, unable to hold it back, and clapped a hand to her mouth. She thought she saw someone move towards her, and she didn’t _want_ to be comforted or reprimanded or _talked to_ by these people she no longer knew—had _never_ known, if this was who they’d become—and so she _ran,_ down the hallway and through the kitchen and out the back door, finally half-collapsing to sit on the porch steps again. Only this was worse, she was outright sobbing into her hands, shoulders shaking—

She heard the _creak_ of someone sitting down next to her, and looked up, not surprised in the slightest to see Rupert and his unreadable fucking expression. Something in her had finally snapped. “What is _wrong_ with you?” she shouted, and _god,_ it felt good to say. Rupert flinched back, eyes wide. She didn’t care. “What is _wrong_ with all of you? You loved each other—you _loved_ each other, and now you all act like you’re just strangers living in the same house! Buffy likes me because apparently _I_ did less to hurt her than _you,_ and you’re her goddamn _Watcher!_ Willow and Xander don’t care that Buffy’s walking out of this house _crying,_ because it’s the _best thing for everyone!_ You’re not—you’re not just some _military team,_ you never were—”

“Don’t you sit there and talk about us like you know us,” said Rupert, and the cold steel in his voice was like a knife to Jenny’s stomach. “Don’t you sit there and pontificate about how terrible we are for turning into people you don’t like. You weren’t _here,_ Jenny. You left us all to fend for ourselves. You don’t have the right to be upset about what happened while you were gone. You don’t have _any_ right to even _be_ here, as it happens, because you _left._ For all your talk about what’s _wrong_ with us, _you_ were a coward when we needed you the most, and it’s _abundantly_ clear to me that you haven’t changed in the slightest.”

Some things, when said, hurt so much that you can’t even cry about them. Jenny felt as though her world had dropped out from under her, looking at the dislike—no, the _disgust_ in Rupert’s eyes. Without a word, she stood.

“Don’t leave,” said Rupert. He stood too. “I’ve spent _five years_ thinking about what I’d say to you if ever you returned. Did you know I was in love with you, Jenny? Did you know I’d have died for you, if you asked? And that meant _nothing_ to you. You threw that away because your mission was over, and to hell with the rest of us. Don’t speak about _love_ when you’ve never held any fucking regard for the people you left behind.”

Jenny laughed. It was a strange, bell-like sound; it sounded like something breaking. She said nothing, because there was nothing she _could say. This_ was more like what she’d imagined seeing Rupert would be like, and having it come true felt more inevitable than tragic.

“It’s  _funny,_ is it?” Rupert stepped forward, still with that terrible look in his eyes. He’d been holding back the love, but he’d been holding _that_ back too. Jenny felt glad that he’d let it out. “Enlighten me, Jenny. What is so bloody _funny?”_

Jenny smiled at him, again, helpless, because even in this moment, she couldn’t help but _love_ him. The man she knew _would_ have been angry at her, blazingly,  _furiously,_ and he would never have forgiven her for leaving the way that she did. This man was someone she recognized. “You’re just right,” she whispered. “You’re just so right, Rupert.”

 _That_ stopped Rupert in his tracks.

Distantly, Jenny realized that he had never once heard her say anything close to _you’re right, Rupert._ It _would_ come as a surprise, wouldn’t it? “I threw away a good thing,” she said, and she couldn’t hold back the tears as she said it. “I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me. I was stupid and afraid and I threw it away.”

“Afraid of _what?”_ said Rupert derisively. “It’s not as though Angelus was _chasing_ you—”

Jenny flinched.

Rupert stopped. Slowly, the anger drained from his face. “Jenny,” he said, horrified, shaking, and she knew he was thinking about the blood on the doorframe, the wrecked computer lab, the fact that it had taken her three days to send him any kind of correspondence.

Wordlessly, Jenny shook her head. He’d figured it out, she knew, but she still couldn’t tell him. She could handle his anger; she _couldn’t_ handle whatever it was he would say once he had heard her tell him the truth. “No, you’re right,” she said, breathless and sobbing. “You’re right, you’re right, it was my fault, I’m horrible, please, Rupert, don’t ask me—”

“Giles, we _need_ you in here!” called Willow from the kitchen. She hadn’t rounded the corner to peek through the open back door; Jenny supposed that she was trying to give them some privacy.

Rupert didn’t move.

“They need you,” said Jenny unsteadily. “They don’t need me.”

Rupert stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. He swallowed, hard, then headed back up the porch steps, closing the back door behind him.

Jenny stood there, swaying, completely unable to process what had just happened. She sat down on the porch steps—

Abruptly, the back door slammed open, and Rupert stormed back down the steps. In a swift, smooth motion, he had pulled Jenny to her feet, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her, _hard,_ a quick, fierce press of his mouth against hers. He pulled back, eyes wet.

 _“Giles!”_ Willow _did_ round the corner, and _squeaked,_ staring at the both of them from the doorway.

Rupert dropped his hands. He looked just as undone as Jenny felt. Without a word, he climbed the steps again, walking quietly past a shocked Willow and into the house.

“Ms. Calendar,” said Willow shakily. “What—!”

Jenny fell back against the railing, heart pounding, and pressed her fingers to her mouth.


	5. what we could have been

The sun was an hour from rising when Jenny parked her car in front of the Hyperion. The hotel, lit by the last vestiges of moonlight, was a sight she’d seen a thousand times before, staggering home from a late-night brawl or a rescue attempt that took longer than expected, and it made her feel as though she’d never left Los Angeles. It would be easy to pretend, again, that Sunnydale had been a brief reprieve from sanity, an attempt to be a better person than she was, a last-ditch effort to win over a man she could never be good enough for. She could go inside, and she could forget about Rupert’s mouth on hers, and she could forget about the acidic way he’d spat out _coward._

She leaned back in her seat, instead, trying to find it in herself to—to get out of the car and resolve things with Angel, to realize her mistake and drive back to Sunnydale, to do _something._ But she was so fucking tired of making these decisions. Running away when things got too real, then ending up right back where she started, somehow—it _hurt._ Every goddamn time, it hurt.

A car pulled up next to hers. Jenny rested her cheek against the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes and thought about five years ago, when Rupert’s mouth on hers had been soft and warm, when he’d trailed kisses down her throat and whispered her name against her skin like a benediction—

The car honked its horn. Jenny jumped a little, but closed her eyes again.

Someone knocked, sharply, on the window.

Jenny opened her eyes and turned her head. Rupert was on the other side of the glass, looking just as disheveled and exhausted as she felt after driving all night. He was wearing the same clothes that he had when he’d kissed her. He followed me, she realized. Right after I left.

She rolled down the window.

“I needed to apologize to you,” said Rupert. His voice shook.

Jenny tried to recapture that utter terror she had felt only hours before. It had felt so _important_ for him to never know why she’d really left Sunnydale, that first time—but now she just felt hollowed-out and tired. “It’s fine,” she said dully.

Rupert shook his head, eyes wet. “It isn’t,” he said. “I was cruel and malicious. I unleashed five years of unfounded anger on you, and I had no right to do it.”

“You had every right,” said Jenny quietly. “You loved me very much, and I threw that away.”

“No, I-I don’t think you did,” said Rupert unsteadily. “That’s—”

“Don’t forgive me just because you think you know a little bit more of why I left,” said Jenny flatly. “That doesn’t absolve me, Rupert. I knew you loved me, and I left. That’s the only part of the story that matters.”

“It’s _not,_ ” said Rupert fiercely.

Jenny turned her back on him, leaning into the driver’s seat until her cheek was pressed against the leather. Something inside her was _screaming._ But she couldn’t untangle this, she couldn’t fix this, she _couldn’t—_

Rupert was walking past her. Rupert had left his car double-parked next to hers, he had skirted her own car, and he was walking towards the Hyperion, holding a _broadsword_ with clear and visible intent to use it. Jenny sat up straight, watching him head into the lobby—and heard a _shriek_ from Fred.

If it had been anyone else, anyone at all, it might not have brought Jenny so sharply out of her abject misery. But Fred was the sweet little science nerd who had latched onto Jenny like a barnacle, the giggly bibliophile who understood all of Wesley’s obscure literary references, the gentle girl who _cared_ so very much, and if Fred was screaming—if Fred was scared—

Jenny got out of the car and _ran,_ because now she was thinking about the _last_ time Rupert had thought a vampire might have hurt her. She was thinking about Spike struggling to free himself from a tight grip. She was thinking about Rupert attacking again.

She ran through the doors, because Rupert had left them ajar, and Angel Investigations froze in a strange tableau: Cordelia, hands pressed to her mouth, behind the desk. Wesley, a stack of books dropped at his feet, looking more puzzled than frightened. Gunn, with a shaking Fred encircled protectively in his arms. Connor, usually so sullen, watching with a gleeful interest. Rupert, hands still on the sword—and Angel, pinned to the wall by the sword in his gut.

And suddenly, Jenny found herself more exasperated than anything. This wasn’t Rupert’s battle to fight, and it wasn’t Angel’s place to get in the middle of relationship drama. Both of them were in this position because she hadn’t been able to _talk_ to either of them, and it abruptly felt very, very ridiculous. She stepped in front of a shaking Rupert, removed his hands from the sword so that she could steady it herself, tossed an apologetic smile in her friends’ direction, and looked up at Angel. “Hey there, Broody and the Beast,” she said. “The sword’s new.”

“Care to explain why your boyfriend just stabbed me with it?” said Angel, who looked more annoyed than hurt. He bounced back from stab wounds pretty fast, even if they were as technically lethal as this one. “Because I’m drawing a blank.”

“I think he figured out that you chased me out of Sunnydale five years ago,” said Jenny. “Though I don’t think he figured out that we’re kind of still friends.”

Angel’s eyes went soft, a small, puppyish smile creeping across his face. “We are?”

“God, you two are ridiculous,” said Cordelia abruptly. “I spent _days_ telling him after you left, _Angel, she’s freaked, but she’s not just gonna drop you like a hot potato._ And then he was all like _but Cordelia, my inner darkness is so dark that no one can ever love me._ And then _I_ was like _well, I love you, dummy,_ because I _do_ love him even when he _is_ being a dummy—”

“Cordy, you’re really killing the moment here,” said Angel.

“I’m sorry, is this a _moment?”_ Cordelia skirted the desk, crossing the room to stand next to Jenny. She squinted at the sword embedded in Angel’s stomach. “This looks more like a _medical emergency_ than a _moment_ to me.”

“Nice to see you again, Cordy,” said Jenny, unable to hold back a wryly amused smile. _Some_ things never changed. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know.” Cordelia grinned back. “Still coming down from the whole almost-getting-used-as-a-demon-incubator thing. Kind of a good thing you guys caught that one before it happened, huh?”

“It didn’t stop the Beast from running wild,” said Angel quietly. “And it didn’t stop you guys from needing to call on Angelus.”

He was getting that miserably brooding look on his face again, and it kind of detracted from the main point. Jenny cleared her throat, and Cordelia took the hint, stepping back again to quietly shepherd the rest of Angel Investigations into the office. Fred shut the door behind them.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Jenny said, grateful for the semi-privacy. “The _point_ that I came here to make—you know, kind of, now that I’m actually thinking about it—is that I think I’m done running away from confrontation.”

“Okay,” said Angel, looking a little bemused. “I kind of just thought you didn’t want to be around me.”

Jenny shook her head. “No, I—no,” she said, her voice softening almost involuntarily. “No. I just got, I got scared. I don’t like telling people when I’m hurt. I’d rather skip town and hide somewhere for—”

“Five years,” Rupert finished, quietly, from behind her.

“Five years,” Jenny agreed without thinking. She realized what she’d said, then turned to fix him with an indignant look. “That is _not—_ never mind, I’ll deal with you later,” she huffed, turning back to Angel. “I just…” She hesitated, then said, “If I’d stayed, I’d have to—I’d have to be strong enough to deal with the hard stuff. I never was.”

“Jenny, you’re one of the strongest, bravest people I know,” said Angel indignantly, placing his hands gently over hers on the sword. Behind her, Jenny felt Rupert flinch. “Don’t ever think you’re not.”

“I ran,” said Jenny.

 _“Five years ago,”_ said Angel. “And you know what? After you ran, you spent five years turning yourself into the kind of person who would never run away again.”

 _“And then I ran away again!”_ Jenny screamed, completely losing her temper. She couldn’t _stand_ the way Angel was looking at her—all sympathy and understanding, like he thought she was someone _good_. “And _again!_ And I did it because it was _easy,_ and because I didn’t want to _ever_ have to deal with the kind of wreckage Angelus leaves behind! And I _know_ I’ve been selfish, and I don’t _care,_ I’d do it _all over again_ if I could! What kind of person does that—” Her voice broke. “What does that make me, Angel? Someone worth loving? Someone worth _believing_ in?”

Angel’s grip tightened over hers on the sword, his eyes bright and miserable. “You grew up on bedtime stories with me as the monster, Jenny,” he said. “Both times you ran, I chased you away. No one could ever blame you for being afraid.”

Unconsciously, Jenny glanced towards Rupert.

Angel’s face hardened. It was a long few seconds before he spoke again. “Giles,” he said coldly. “What did you say to her?”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who hurt Jenny,” said Rupert, unabashed, meeting Angel’s eyes with a blazing fury. “There was blood on the doorframe, Angel. The computer lab was decimated. And you could have damn well thought to _tell me_ what you’d done to her—”

“It was done,” said Angel quietly. “It was over. Bringing it up would only have hurt you more, Giles.”

But something about that didn’t sound quite right to Jenny. She hadn’t examined Angel’s part in her leaving Sunnydale—hadn’t wanted to think about it very much—and, as such, had never asked him what, if anything, he had told Giles. “Angel?” she said quietly. “Did Rupert know _anything_ about you attacking me at the school that night?” She heard Rupert’s sharp, infuriated intake of breath, but she couldn’t look at him.

Angel didn’t answer.

“I mean,” said Jenny unsteadily, “I didn’t actually give much thought to it until right now, but I always kind of assumed he knew about you attacking me at the school. I thought maybe you’d have told him at least _that_ much. I know you didn’t tell him that I was scared and I had a head injury and I decided that my leaving Sunnydale was the best thing for all parties involved, because sticking around wasn’t doing anything good for the people I cared about—” (she heard Rupert almost _sob,_ at that, but she _could not look at him)_ “—because I only decided that when I was by myself, in my car. So you couldn’t have known that you were the reason I left.” Angel was staring at her with a horrified expression. “But I assumed—I thought at _least,_ you would have told him what you did to me at _some_ point. I thought—” She stopped.

“Jenny,” said Angel.

 _“Jenny,”_ said Rupert. He was crying.

Jenny twisted the sword, just enough to make Angel gasp in pain. She stared at him, a lump in her throat. “You’re my best friend, and I love you,” she said. “You were there for me when nobody else was. You taught me how to hold my own.” She let the sword drop; now it was only Angel holding it in place, pinning himself to the wall to keep from bleeding out. “But you really fucked me over, Angel,” she said. “I need some time to deal with that.”

It felt good, saying it out loud. It felt right. Terrible, too, just like she’d known it would, but it had been needed to be said. Ever since Angelus grinned at her through those bars. Ever since Angelus threw her against the door of a computer lab. One of those, probably.

Jenny stepped back, and back, and back, eyes never leaving Angel’s. She was going back to what might just be the end of Sunnydale, and she was probably going to die, and if she died, then this would be the last time she would see her best friend. So she kept her eyes trained on his, and thought about how someday, years later, she could show up in LA, and he’d grin a little sadly, and so would she, and they’d be friends again.

Someday. Maybe. If they were both really lucky.

And then she was outside the Hyperion, and it was sunrise. Angel wouldn’t be able to follow her here.

“Jenny,” said Rupert, hurrying out of the still-open doors. He caught her hands in his. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, fingers laced tightly with hers like she was the only real thing left in the world.

Suddenly, Jenny felt so, so tired. “I need coffee,” she said. “Do you need coffee? There’s this great diner within walking distance. Let’s go.”

Rupert gave her a small, trembling smile, and let her lead.

* * *

The diner was an adorably retro little place, and the staff knew Jenny well from all the times she’d come in late at night to pick up food for her friends. Generally, it had been her and Wesley, and the waitresses had always teased them about how cute a couple they made, and it had always made Jenny laugh and Wesley blush. Sometimes, it had been her and Fred, and Jenny would say, dramatically, _now this is my real wife!_ And the waitresses would giggle, and Fred would say solemnly _no, seriously, we’re not joking, we get married in May,_ and—

And anyway, Jenny knew the place. Not that it mattered, seeing as she was headed back to Sunnydale in a few hours to die in a blaze of glory on some not-yet-determined date.

“All the Sunnydale residents are leaving, you know,” Rupert was saying, absently stirring his tea. He didn’t seem too interested in drinking it. “Absolutely everyone. We’re not sure how they figured out that they should. We think it might be the Hellmouth.”

 _“We_ should run away together,” said Jenny, a little derisively. She didn’t really mean it. “Probably smarter than staying in the place that spells out CERTAIN DOOM in big neon letters, right?”

“Is there any chance you’ll accept my apology?”

Jenny looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I kinda feel like I deserved a dressing-down.”

“A dressing-down, perhaps,” said Rupert mildly. “Five years of suppressed, torrential rage? I _highly_ doubt it.”

“And as for the kiss—”

“Oh, I’m not sorry for the kiss.”

Jenny _looked_ at him, then, _really_ looked at him, searching for that thread of uncertainty that always accompanied Rupert’s more amorous declarations. But there was a quiet, steely intensity instead, and it took her aback, enough so that she could only stammer out, “You’re—you’re not?”

“No,” said Rupert. He smiled a little ruefully. “It wasn’t really…it was simply something _else_ I’ve been thinking about doing for the last five years.”

“Oh,” said Jenny softly.

“I won’t do it again, if that helps.”

“Oh,” echoed Jenny, a broken record. She didn’t know if that _did_ help. The thought of never kissing Rupert again left an ache in her chest, and it wasn’t the good kind. She decided to focus on something else. “The _last five years?”_

“You did leave quite the impression,” said Rupert, and he reached across the table and took her hand again. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you, Jenny. I did. Very much.”

“I missed you too,” said Jenny, almost inaudible. It was the first time she’d admitted it aloud.

Rupert’s face opened up, soft and warm and shy. He swallowed, hard, eyes wet. “You know,” he said, “I-I hate to admit it now, Jenny, it was callous of me and I won’t forgive myself for it any time soon, but…when you left, I thought, _of course._ ”

Well, that stung. “I—” Jenny began.

But Rupert held up his free hand, looking down at _her_ hand, the one he was holding. Then he looked back up at her, and said, very clearly, “I thought, _she was too perfect to love me. Of course she wasn’t who she said she was._ It is quite a lot, Jenny, to realize years later that you always were only _you._ It was shameful of me to romanticize you and then become angry when you did not live up to those expectations.” He smiled, an apologetic quiver. “I am truly sorry.”

Jenny looked back down at their joined hands, fingers laced together as perfectly as puzzle pieces. She thought about the five years she’d spent thinking about the handsome, gentle, utterly perfect man she had left behind, and she thought she might kind of understand. “Well, I’m sorry too,” she said, looking back up at him. “For probably the same reasons. I spent a lot of time convinced that you were _way_ too good to be true.”

“Wh— _me?”_ Rupert went pink, then gave her a sheepish grin. “Though I suppose that’s not really the point, I, um, can’t help but be a bit flattered.”

Jenny squeezed his hand. “Me too.”

* * *

Rupert drove her home, largely at his own insistence. Jenny left her car parked outside the Hyperion, gave the keys to Cordelia for safekeeping, and then she got into the front seat of Rupert’s car, half-asleep almost before she sat down. It had been a long night, she hadn’t gotten _any_ sleep, and the strange adrenaline that had been coursing through her ever since her dance with Rupert had finally run its course.

As she began to doze off, she felt something warm tucked gently around her. A scratchy overcoat, one that smelled like cologne and old books and _home._ There was a quiet, furtive kiss pressed to her temple—a tender murmur of words that she couldn’t quite make out—and then she really _was_ asleep, lulled by the music on the radio and the movement of the car.

She woke up, briefly, when Rupert was unbuckling her, and then again when he was halfway through carrying her up the stairs to the master bedroom in Buffy’s house. And then she was asleep for a _while,_ probably, because when she woke up, the sun was just setting.

She stretched, and turned, and found Rupert sprawled next to her on top of the covers, facedown in a pillow, his arm thrown haphazardly across her side. He clearly hadn’t _meant_ to fall asleep; his shoes were still on, and it looked like his glasses were too. He looked ridiculously sweet and rumpled, and Jenny liked the comforting weight of his arm over her stomach, so she snuggled a little bit closer.

This had the unfortunate consequence of waking him up. Rupert’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled back. “I’m very sorry!” he stammered, coloring. “I must have—that is, I must have—”

“It’s okay,” Jenny sighed, already in the state of post-awake drowsiness. She stretched again, catlike, and felt certain that her hair was a tangled mess against the pillows. Oh well. He’d seen her with sex hair; bed head couldn’t be worse. “God, I miss my days with short hair,” she mumbled.

“You could always—cut it,” Rupert suggested shyly.

“Is that allowed?” Jenny yawned. “I have long hair now. You wear those new, weird glasses. We’re totally different people.”

Rupert shrugged a little, then sat up with a small sigh. “I’m sure the children will be expecting me to check in, now that I’m awake,” he said. “I should go.”

“Should I come down with you?”

In answer, Rupert extended a hand to her. A surprised Jenny let him gently pull her up and out of bed, at which point he let go of her hand, opened the door, and led the way out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

“Ooh, Ms. _Calendar!”_ said Molly significantly. “Well _done!”_

“We didn’t—” said Rupert.

 _“Thank_ you,” said Jenny, grinning up at a flustered Rupert and rounding the corner into the dining room.

“Giles!” said Willow, looking a little surprised. “We kind of ended up capturing the Bringer without you? You were pretty much out cold, and when we tried to get you to let go of Ms. Calendar—”

Rupert looked up at the ceiling.

 _“Anyway,”_ said Willow, grinning, and handed Jenny a flashlight. “Power’s out. Not a lot we can do about it when the power company decides to ditch Sunnydale with everybody else, though. We _did_ capture a Bringer, and we did a very cool spell, and we learned some very cool things that we should probably tell you guys about? I took notes. Apparently we need to start looking for an underground place big enough to hold a whole buncha weapons—Faith says we’re doing that tomorrow at seven in the morning.”

“We _did_ miss a lot,” said Jenny, wincing. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay!” Dawn piped up. “You guys were going through a lot—” Xander whacked her shoulder, and Dawn blanched. “I mean, uh, nothing! Never mind!”

“Dawn,” said Rupert slowly, “what exactly do you think we’re going through?”

Dawn looked at Xander. Xander looked at Willow. Willow said helplessly, “Well, what did you _expect_ me to do, _not_ tell Xander? He’s my best friend!”

“Not tell Xander what?” said Kennedy, sticking her head into the dining room.

“Giles and Ms. Calendar kissed,” said Xander.

“ _Oh,_ ” said Kennedy. “Wasn’t that already happening?”

 _“Thank you,_ ” said Rupert, who had now gone _bright_ red. “As my presence is not needed until the morning, I shall retire to…” He trailed off, considering. “The sofa. Jenny, will you be sleeping as well?”

“Probably not,” said Jenny, “but some relaxation time might be nice.” She gave the kids a little wave, directed an awkward smile towards Rupert, and headed out of the dining room, up the stairs, and—

And there was Faith, leaning against the doorway. “You’re up,” she said. “Wasn’t expecting that. Almost thought you might sleep through the apocalypse.”

“Yeah, it was…” Jenny trailed off. “It was a pretty weird night,” she said. “Or morning, I guess.”

Faith smiled a little. “So you and Giles?” she said.

The question took Jenny by surprise. “He, um, drove down to LA and stabbed Angel,” she said.

Faith’s smile vanished. “Why was he doing that?”

Jenny hesitated. “Because he…” She trailed off, feeling suddenly guilty. “He put it together,” she said. “Why I left. What Angel did.”

“Yeah, Giles is seemin’ kinda unhinged lately,” said Faith conversationally. “Punching Spike in the face, stabbing Angel—”

“He didn’t punch Spike in the face,” said Jenny, bemused. “He tackled Spike after that battle, but Spike pushed him away. When did he punch Spike in the face?”

Faith blinked, then winced, visibly realizing she’d said something she shouldn’t have. “Uh,” she said. “After he saw that me and Spike had kinda roughed you up that one time, he gave me some _serious_ shit. Sat me down at the kitchen table for ten minutes and talked about how as a Slayer, I wasn’t supposed to be knocking around people without being careful, and _definitely_ not you. And _then_ I asked if he’d given Spike that same conversation, ‘cause Spike had been doing the same thing, and he said that he hadn’t, ‘cause he’d just gone down and punched Spike in the face.”

Jenny felt a bizarre mix of affection and exasperation. “What an idiot,” she said.

“Spike?” said Faith.

“Rupert,” said Jenny.

Faith grinned a little. “You’re sayin’ that the same way _I_ call _Buffy_ an idiot, y’know,” she said.

“I know,” said Jenny mildly, and stepped past Faith into the bedroom.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and stopped with a thoughtful frown: her hair _was_ longer, more so than she remembered. She hadn’t really had time to cut it, in LA, not with all the constant apocalypses and disasters and people to save, and somewhere over the course of the last five years, it had turned into a tumble-down waterfall that ended just after the small of her back. It wasn’t something she had paid attention to until this moment.

* * *

Rupert was down on the sofa when Jenny finally exited the bedroom. He sat up, eyes wide, when he saw her. “Goodness,” he said. “Was that intentional?” Jenny almost fell over laughing. “No, I—” Rupert protested, “I simply thought your hair might have been attacked by, by some sort of scissor-wielding madman!” Jenny _did_ fall over laughing at that, and he let out a frustrated breath. “I was _concerned,_ Jenny—”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jenny wheezed, straightening up and running a hand through her _much_ shorter hair. She had tried to go for the chin-length cut she’d been sporting five years ago, but the kitchen scissors hadn’t really been able to cut her hair in a straight line, and so there were choppy, strangely layered parts in the back that she was very glad she couldn’t see. Somehow, the sides were worse. “I know you said long hair suits me, but I think short hair’s a bit more quintessentially _Jenny,_ y’know?”

And that was when she noticed something else. In place of Rupert’s newer, silver glasses were—

“Oh,” said Rupert, blushing a little. “Well. I-I had them in my luggage, and I got to thinking—that is, I know we’re _entirely_ different people, but—some things haven’t changed. For me. I _did_ like these old glasses best, but after all the disastrous things that I saw through them, I thought it best to, to put them aside for a while.” He smiled nervously. “They’re my spare pair, though, so I still. Um. Have them.”

He looked like the man she remembered, Jenny thought. But it had nothing to do with the glasses. “Listen,” she said shyly. “I have…kind of a favor to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“Would you—” Jenny bit her lip. “I know we’re in a weird position,” she said. “Stuff between us hasn’t really been resolved. I don’t know if it’ll _get_ resolved before the world ends, and I can’t pretend that that doesn’t bum me out. But is it possible—I mean, would you—can we just put that stuff aside for right now? Just for tonight? We can go back to being really awkward and weird tomorrow, I promise, I—” She raised a hand to her hair. “I just kind of need a friend who I trust right now.”

“Well—”

“To cut my hair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cordelia is absolutely fine in this au, because even when i'm writing a generally pretty bleak s7 fic i cannot assassinate cordy's character for the sake of a ridiculous plotline that i do not like. there are limits.


	6. with a turn of a phrase

“What are we thinking?” Rupert asked, peering over Jenny’s shoulder to look at them both in the bathroom mirror. It reminded Jenny a little of the mornings-after, years ago, and how he’d rest his chin on the top of her head while she brushed her teeth. There was no pain to the memory, just a fond warmth, and _that_ felt kind of unusual too. Almost promising. “More of a bob? Close-cropped? Buzz cut? Shaved head?” Picking up the scissors, he sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Jenny rolled her eyes, smiling, and sat down next to him. “Just make it look less bad,” she said.

“You do realize I have about as much experience as you in this arena?”

“Yeah, but you’re not cutting _your own hair,”_ Jenny pointed out. “That already puts you _way_ ahead of any hack job I could manage. Pun very intended.”

Rupert hesitated, then took a strand of her hair and delicately _snipped_ one of the ends.

“Oh my god,” said Jenny. “Seriously? At that rate, the First will have taken Sunnydale before you’re halfway done.”

“You’re trusting me!” Rupert countered. “I want to make sure that I’m worthy of that trust!”

Jenny snorted. “Of the both of us, who here is the _untrustworthy_ one? I don’t see _you_ running off in the dead of night for no good reason. _Twice.”_

Slowly, Rupert’s small smile faded. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

Jenny blushed, feeling strangely ashamed and not quite liking it. “C’mon,” she said. “We were both thinking it.”

“I can firmly assure you that I was thinking nothing of the sort,” said Rupert. “If anything, I was thinking how sorry I am that you were placed in such a terrible position.”

Jenny’s head snapped up. “I— _what?”_

Rupert ran a careful, gentle hand through her hair, smoothing it out, then started in with the scissors again, gently reshaping the back of her haircut into something a little less choppy and a little more even. Or at least Jenny _hoped_ that was what he was doing. She couldn’t really tell. “You were scared,” he said quietly. “You ran. And if I’m not mistaken, the first time it happened, you spent five years feeling _obscenely_ guilty for not coming back.” He swallowed, hard; the scissors stopped. “I quite regret my inaction,” he said unsteadily. “I dearly wish I had gone after you.”

Jenny turned around. Very fast. This was a mistake. The scissors caught against her cheek, leaving a sharp, thin cut before a horrified Rupert jerked them away. She barely noticed. She was too focused on trying to think of _anything_ to say in response to his admission.

But Rupert’s attention was now _very_ much on Jenny’s cheek. Hurriedly, he set down the scissors on the nearby counter, then got up to open the medicine cabinet. Pulling out the first-aid kit, he sat down next to Jenny, then pressed a square of gauze to her cheek to stem the bleeding. “Goodness,” he said, laughing a little nervously, “I seem _just_ as prone to injuring you as I always have been—”

“You wish you’d _gone_ _after me?”_

“Well, yes,” said Rupert. His smile was bittersweet. “I was quite madly in love with you. I spent five years thinking the woman I loved had been some maliciously fictitious creation, and now…” He swallowed, hard, as he carefully pressed a butterfly-shaped bandage to her face. “Now I know she was better than I could have _ever_ imagined. It’s more than enough to make me very aware of my own terrible choices.”

Jenny smiled too. It wasn’t really a smile, though. “I’m not better than anything, Rupert,” she said tiredly. “Maybe I’m not as terrible as I’ve felt I am for the last five years, but I can’t possibly have been as wonderful as _you_ seem to think I was.”

“So you’re somewhere in the middle, then,” said Rupert.

“Somewhere in the middle,” Jenny agreed softly. Was it her imagination, or had he leaned in just a little?

Rupert’s smile was more sweet than bitter; he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know,” he said, “you really are making this haircut work. I don’t think there’s a lot I have to do to make it look better.”

“Flatterer,” said Jenny, grinning.

Rupert shook his head. “No, you—” He hesitated, thumb stroking her good cheek, then said, “Five years, and you’re still as lovely as when I first saw you. You haven’t aged a day.”

His eyes were such a gorgeous sea-green, Jenny thought. Warm and beachy and _wonderful._ She knew this was the place where she usually said something incisive and witty, but she had been waiting five years for him to look at her like that. Tentatively, she moved forward, her knees bumping against his. “You either,” she said softly. “Same guy I fell in love with.”

Rupert laughed, a tired, derisive sound. “I highly doubt _that._ ”

“Okay,” said Jenny, pulling back a little. She reached up, cupping his face in one hand. “So maybe you can meet _me_ somewhere in the middle—”

For a heart-stopping moment, when Rupert leaned forward, she felt sure that he was going to kiss her again, and she almost couldn’t _breathe_ for fear of startling him into changing his mind. But his head fell forward, his mouth missing hers by a long shot, and suddenly his face was buried in her shoulder, and he—and he was—

Jenny gasped, tears springing to her own eyes, and pulled him into a tight hug as he cried. She dug her fingers into the back of his sweater, then buried her face in his hair, pressing a fierce kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her own voice shaking. “It’s okay—”

Rupert sobbed out something unintelligible and held her tighter.

He’d been _alone,_ Jenny realized with a sharp pang. He hadn’t had a best friend or a community or any sense of family. She’d never felt responsible for Cordelia, or Wesley, or Gunn—though she’d always known they would miss her if she left Los Angeles, she’d never felt like their worlds would crumble as soon as she was gone. But he’d had the children, and it was becoming abundantly clear that he didn’t think he’d lived up to the responsibility of taking care of them. He hadn’t had anyone to help him figure out how.

“If I’d had my way, I would have stayed with you,” she whispered, because now it felt _abundantly_ clear: he needed to know. “I would have—I would have married you, and we would have had the kids over for dinner once a week—no, not once a week, that’s too little. Whenever they felt like it. And I’d have taught Willow magic, and she’d have probably surpassed me in, like, thirty seconds—” She felt Rupert’s wet laugh against her neck, and, encouraged, continued, “—and we’d have taken Buffy and Dawn in after Joyce died, and it wouldn’t have been _perfect,_ but everyone would be happy, okay? They’d have been happy. I wanted to stay, Rupert, I wanted it _so_ badly, I thought about you for _years_ and I _never_ stopped loving you—”

Rupert’s head snapped up.

Jenny felt herself freeze. She hadn’t meant to say that; she hadn’t even realized she’d _meant_ it until she’d said it. And now he was going to be angry with her again, she was going to have ruined things _again,_ he’d needed gentle handling, not an emotionally incompetent ex-girlfriend showing up to cry about how she still _loved_ him—

But then Rupert raised a shaking hand to her face, and rested his forehead against hers. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pull away, and he didn’t shutter his face into that cool, blank expression she’d gotten so used to seeing. He just closed his eyes, fingers resting against her cheek, and let out a soft, quiet breath, like he’d been holding it for years without noticing.

Jenny closed her eyes too. She thought she might be crying; her cheeks were wet. “Can we go to bed?” she said quietly.

A long moment. Then she felt Rupert nod.

* * *

He lay down first, on the bed, and then Jenny settled herself in next to him, facing him. This was supposed to be Buffy’s room, she thought distantly, but the stuff with the children would have to wait until tomorrow, because Rupert was in no condition to handle _anything_ but sleep. She took his hands in hers again—hesitated—and kissed the knuckles, then looked back up at him, waiting for him to pull away again.

“Oh, don’t, Jenny,” said Rupert, eyes cloudy with some age-old hurt. “Don’t look at me like that. Please—” He moved forward, tugging his hands free of hers, and cupped her face in his hands, bumping his forehead against hers. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said quietly. “Any of this. Not Sunnydale, not the children, not us.”

“It shouldn’t be just your job to do it,” said Jenny, moving forward on the bed until she was all but in his arms. “And it definitely isn’t just _your_ job to fix us, if that’s—” She swallowed. “If that’s something you might want.”

“Of course it’s something I want,” said Rupert unsteadily, dropping his hands to nervously rest them on her shoulders. “I simply—I don’t know where to start.”

Jenny smiled, wry and tender. “Well, saying that you _want_ this is a good start,” she said. “Makes me know I haven’t been just chasing you down for no reason.”

Rupert blinked, then smiled back, looking almost bemused. “How on earth could you _ever_ doubt—”

“You’ve been icing me out since I got here,” said Jenny, her smile fading. “Granted, at the time, you were under the impression that I was a no-good liar who’d left you at the first sign of trouble, but it still didn’t do a lot for my self-esteem.”

Rupert’s smile was now all but gone as well. He hesitated to meet her gaze. Carefully, he said, “I—Jenny, you’re—in the last five years, you are the _only_ person I have been in love with so completely. Even when I believed you to be a, a _no-good liar,_ I still—” He swallowed. “I still cared quite deeply for you. Keeping my composure was an act of self-preservation, not indifference.”

“So what, you’ve been this cold to me because—”

“Because once I stopped,” said Rupert quietly, “I would fall in love with you all over again. In a heartbeat.”

Jenny stared at him. Then, moving forward, she settled herself into his arms. She felt Rupert’s soft intake of breath, and for a moment she was afraid that this was too much, too fast—but then she felt his arms around her waist. One hand at the curve of her spine, fingers splayed.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

Rupert exhaled, a noise between a sigh and a sob, and murmured something into her hair. She didn’t catch what it was, but the tenderness of his tone made her heartbeat pick up anyway. Snuggling closer, Jenny felt his breathing begin to even out, and closed her eyes too, feeling, for the first time in a _long_ while, something close to happy.

* * *

Jenny woke up, and her first thought was a wordless one. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a very long time, a feeling of _warm_ and _safe_ and _love_ bundled up into one composite, single-second emotion right before conscious thought. She opened her eyes, and saw that a still-asleep Rupert was sprawled just as gracelessly as always across the bed, and that the whole _warm_ feeling probably had to do with her being tucked almost protectively into his side.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Rupert stirred. This time, he didn’t pull back—only rolled onto his side, brushing his nose against hers. “Hello,” he said, voice still thick with sleep.

“We should—” Jenny hesitated. “Should we go downstairs?”

“Mm,” said Rupert noncommittally, already closing his eyes again.

Jenny smiled slightly. On a whim, she leaned in, pressing a careful kiss to Rupert’s cheek. “I’ll tell them you’re sleeping in,” she murmured, thumb stroking his jaw, and pulled back just in time to see the expression of wide-eyed wonder cross his face. “That sound okay?”

“I’d like breakfast, if you’re going downstairs,” said Rupert, and gave her a small, nervous grin.

“I’ll bring you toast,” Jenny agreed, clambering up and off the bed. She was still wearing the tank top and sweatpants she’d changed into the night before, so she ducked into the bathroom to quickly change into a t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was a fluffy mess, sticking out at all angles, and the sight of it made her laugh; she ran her fingers through it, smoothing it down until it fell just above her chin. It was shorter than it had been in a very long time. It felt like a weight had been lifted.

Rupert opened the door and stepped into the bathroom behind her, a shy smile on his face. “I heard you laugh,” he said. “I do hope your hair is to your liking—at the very least, you can now hold _me_ responsible if it isn’t.”

Jenny turned from the mirror, still grinning. “No, I like it,” she said. “It’s gonna be _really_ efficient when we’re fighting Bringers.”

“SO ARE YOU GUYS DONE IN THERE?” called Kennedy. “THERE’S ONLY ONE BATHROOM IN THIS HOUSE, YOU KNOW—”

Rolling her eyes, Jenny grabbed Rupert’s hand, towing him out of the bathroom and heading down the stairs. There were some startled exclamations from the Potentials at Jenny’s hair, or maybe at the fact that Jenny and Rupert were holding hands, but she ignored them, pulling Rupert into the living room. “Willow,” she said, “full disclosure, I totally forgot absolutely everything you briefed me on last night, so if you could give me a quick summary of all the stuff that went down yesterday—”

“Are you and Giles _holding hands?”_ said Willow in a high-pitched voice.

“And what of it?” said Rupert coolly, but Jenny felt his grip tighten painfully around her hand.

Jenny had had enough. He was looking at the kids like they might attack him, and that felt _just_ as ridiculous as all that stuff with him and her and Angel. “Okay,” she said. “Looks like I’m gonna have to play mediator. Rupert, is there anything that you maybe want to say to these kids?”

Rupert blinked, visibly taken aback. “Jenny—”

“You said you wanted to fix things, right?” Jenny pulled her hand free of his, looking firmly up at him in that way that had _always_ worked five years ago. And if he said nothing had changed, if he said he still cared— “So fix them.”

For a moment, she thought that she might have overstepped. But then, to the surprise of _everyone_ in the room, Rupert turned from Jenny, facing Willow, Xander, and Dawn. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I failed you—completely—as a Watcher.”

“Isn’t a Watcher’s job to protect _Buffy?”_ said Dawn coolly. “Doesn’t really matter whether or not you failed _us—”_

“Therein lies the problem,” said Rupert. He looked like he was _trying_ to remain composed, but his hands were very visibly shaking; Jenny stepped forward, quietly, to tuck her own hand into the crook of his arm. It seemed to help him continue. “I used my title as a Watcher to shield myself from any responsibility to the rest of you. I decided that it only mattered whether or not _Buffy_ needed me to stay, I didn’t listen to her when she told me that she did, and I didn’t bother even considering whether or not all of _you_ might have benefitted from my presence. I’m sorry.” Mostly, his eyes were on Willow, but at those last words, he looked at Dawn and Xander. “Particularly for neglecting those who have always been there for the rest of us.”

The children looked somewhat shocked. Weakly, Xander said, “Holy shit, Ms. Calendar. What did you _do_ to him?”

“This isn’t about Jenny,” said Rupert, and Jenny felt a sense of warm relief. Making the moment about her would detract from any possible connection between him and the kids. “This is about the ways in which I’ve failed you three.”

“And what about Buffy?” said Dawn, completely devoid of sympathy.

Rupert gave Dawn a small, bitter smile, ducking his head. “Well,” he said. “As soon as I see her again, my apologies to her will be myriad in nature—”

“So what will they be?”

Rupert hesitated. Then he said, “I rather think that Buffy should be the first one to hear me apologize to her, Dawn. I owe her at least that much.”

“And more,” said Dawn. “Like, a whole _bunch_ more. Do you know how many times you broke her trust? She loved you like a dad and you _left—_ ”

“I know,” said Rupert quietly.

“You _left—_ ” Dawn’s voice broke. Eyes blazing, she swallowed, then continued. “You  _left_ and you didn’t even _care_ how we felt about it!”

“Yes,” said Rupert.

“A-and it was mean, and gross, and selfish, and I _hate you—_ ”

“You have every right to,” said Rupert.

Dawn’s resolve seemed to be crumbling. Scrubbing at her face, she started to cry. “I’m so _mad_ at you!” she wept. “You _left!_ And then you came back and you _tricked_ Buffy and I’m mad at her too but she still didn’t deserve _that!_ We _trust_ you, Giles, you’re supposed to have our backs—” Willow and Xander both reached out to her, but she shoved them both away. “Don’t _apologize_ to us like you even know how much you hurt us!” she sobbed. “Don’t look at us like—like you know—”

“Dawn,” said Willow quietly, but something in her expression suggested that she agreed.

Xander did look up at Rupert, tired and resigned. “Listen, man, you broke a whole bunch of stuff in your wild dash out of Sunnydale,” he said. “It’s great that you want to make things right, but it’s gonna take a lot more than a well-worded apology.”

“I know that,” said Rupert. “And—and I hope that, that after the dust settles, I’ll be able to convince you that my words are heartfelt—”

But Xander shook his head. “Giles, no one ever doubted you mean what you say,” he said. “We just all aren’t that sure that you’re gonna follow through on it.” He placed a hand on a sobbing Dawn’s shoulder, then tugged her into his side.

Willow was still looking up at them both. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I mean, I think a lot of the stuff that happened w-with Tara—” her voice caught on the name, and Jenny, who had heard bits and pieces of the story, felt a rush of sympathy, “—I think that would have been my fault whether or not you’d left. Not all of that was the magic, you know? I’ve been coming to terms with that for a while. But Giles, you _did_ care more about Buffy than us.”

“That—” Rupert swallowed, hard, then nodded. “Yes,” he said.

“And it was hard,” said Willow. “Because we all knew you loved us, but we also all knew you’d always love her more. And I don’t know how you’re supposed to apologize for that. I don’t think it would sound very real if you did.” She crossed her arms, looking contemplatively down at her shoes, then looked back up at him again. “Do you still love her more than us?” she said.

Rupert looked a little stunned by the question. Jenny _felt_ a little stunned by the question. No one had ever put Rupert’s feelings about his kids so bluntly before. Finally, slowly, he said, “I decided what was best for Buffy and used her perceived well-being to justify my own poor decisions, without asking you, or her, or _anyone_ what they needed. I don’t think it was a case of _more,_ or _less._ I think it was very easy to _say_ I cared more for her than the rest of you, because then I could call myself her Watcher and do whatever the hell I wanted. But if I had truly cared about her as much as I claimed to, I would have listened to her when she said she needed me to stay.” He swallowed. “I don’t know if I can answer your question, Willow,” he said. “All I know is that I care very deeply for all of you, and I am truly sorry I gave you reason to doubt it.”

Dawn had stopped crying, looking up at Rupert with wide eyes. Xander and Willow looked all but speechless. Jenny turned, and he looked at her, and…this was not the angry, bitter man who had called her a coward, nor was it the gentle librarian who had kissed her in the stacks. Neither of those men had _ever_ been this honest. She squeezed his arm, and stepped back, because this had transitioned into a conversation she wasn’t meant to be a part of. “I’ll go make breakfast,” she said, and left Rupert standing there with his kids.

Faith was in the kitchen, awkwardly flipping mostly-burned pancakes. “So what’s going on out there?” she asked.

“Oh, lots of weird stuff,” said Jenny, sitting down at the counter. “Emotional honesty. Crying.” She threw a glance over her shoulder, and saw that Rupert, Willow, Xander, and Dawn were all gathered together in a clumsy, heartfelt family hug. “I think I might be falling in love again.”

 _“Ha!”_ Faith flipped a pancake and it landed on the burned side. There was an unpleasant sizzling sound. “I fuckin’ _knew_ it—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jenny smiled, turning her attention back to the pancakes. “Can you make me a few?”

“You sure you want some? These are…” Faith warily poked one of the pancakes with her spatula. “Not good.”

Jenny shrugged. “I’m hungry,” she said. “We’re probably charging into battle pretty soon, right?”

“Well, I kinda want Giles and the Scoobies to check up on Buffy, see how she’s doing,” said Faith. “Make sure she’s okay.” There was a slight blush tinting her cheeks. “I, I really didn’t want shit to go down that way,” she said, her voice softening. “I hate that it always kinda seems to.”

“There’s still time,” said Jenny gently.

“Not a lot,” said Faith. “These Bringers—whatever they’re doing, chances are it’s gonna be happening pretty soon. For all we know, tomorrow could be our last day on earth.” She swallowed. “Or in Sunnydale, at least. Gotta say, I prefer the second option.”

Rupert entered the kitchen, then, still looking a little misty-eyed. He nodded to Faith, and when Jenny looked up, he gave her a soft, warm smile, meeting her eyes with intention and affection. “You are a veritable hurricane of a woman,” he said admiringly.

“What did she do?” said Faith.

“Strong-armed me into apologizing to the children,” said Rupert. His smile faded a bit as he looked up at Faith. “For what it’s worth, Faith, I think you’re probably owed one as well.”

Faith’s face twisted a little, but her smile didn’t falter. “No offense, Giles,” she said, “but at this point in time, I couldn’t give less of a shit about you. Apologize or don’t. It’s kinda all the same to me.”

At Jenny’s inquiring look, Rupert said quietly, “I was—initially—intended to be Faith’s Watcher as well as Buffy’s.”

Jenny winced. “Ooh,” she said. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” said Faith. “Wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven.” She shrugged. “Guess it was probably for the better, honestly. I was never really a Watcher’s pet.”

It was a harsher resolution than Jenny had expected, but it felt just as authentic as the one with Willow and Xander and Dawn, so she decided to let it lie. “Faith,” she said, “can I have some pancakes?”

“Oh, no, Faith, those are _horrible,_ ” said Rupert. Before either Faith or Jenny had realized what was going on, he had gently moved Faith out of the way, stepped up to the stove, and begun pouring out the batter for another pancake, animatedly narrating the process as he went. “You’ve got the heat on _much_ too high and you’re leaving them on too long—no wonder they’re all burning. Here, Jenny, if you’d like pancakes, I’ll make you a few of my own—”

Unable to stop herself from smiling, Jenny watched him cook.


	7. all the secrets i've been keeping

Rupert and the gang headed out to check on Buffy, and Faith and a handful of Potentials headed out to the arsenal, which left Jenny at home with some of the other Potentials. The girls didn’t seem as interested in giggling over Jenny as they had previously, though—perhaps because Buffy’s removal as leader had left a strange, sad cloud over the house—and she was grateful for it. It gave her time to slip upstairs and enjoy some much-needed time to herself.

She took a long shower, and thought about Rupert’s arms around her, both of them lying tangled together in bed. It had been an intimate moment, one unlike anything they’d shared before. They’d had sex before, sure, but it hadn’t been…he hadn’t held her like that. She hadn’t let herself feel _safe_ like that.

It felt so strange, thinking about Rupert and his smile without guilt weighing her down. It felt _wonderful._ She leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, bringing back the memory of his mouth on hers, his face buried in her neck, his soft, even breathing as he slept.

 _All over again,_ she thought, and felt her smile grow. _In a heartbeat._

There was a knock on the bathroom door. With a reluctant sigh, Jenny pulled herself out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy pink towel around herself before poking her head out. “What’s up?”

Rupert blinked, then blushed, giving her a small, shy smile. “Um,” he said. “I-I decided to…stay behind. My innumerable wrongs against Buffy won’t be improved by adding espionage to the list. A-and I was wondering if, if you’d perhaps…like to spend some time with me?”

Jenny felt her heart _swoop_ up into her throat, color rushing to her cheeks. “Like a date?” she blurted out.

Rupert’s smile flickered. “Well,” he said awkwardly, eyes darting away from hers. “I-I must confess I hadn’t…considered the implications. Largely, Jenny, I, I’d just like to spend time with you and _not_ have it end in tears.” He looked nervously back up at her. “If you’d like it to be a date, it—”

“No, I’d—I’d like to spend some stress-free time with you too,” said Jenny hastily, embarrassed by her presumption. She stepped out, remembering too late that she was only wearing a towel, and felt her blush deepen. “Though, uh. I guess I should get dressed first?”

“Oh, no, I’ve heard minimalism is all the rage in Paris,” said Rupert, grinning. God, what would it _take_ to fluster this man? He stepped back, letting her brush past him, then caught her hand. “Jenny—”

Heart pounding, Jenny could only manage a small, strangled noise.

Rupert seemed to take this as assent to continue. “I _should_ like to take you on a proper date,” he said gently. “Eventually. When the world’s not ending.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, as gently as she’d kissed his knuckles the night before, then let go. “Please keep that in mind.”

“G—yeah,” said Jenny inarticulately. “We. Sure.” A not-at-all-unpleasant feeling beginning in her stomach, she stumbled backwards and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. _Butterflies,_ she realized, pressing a hand against her stomach, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She wasn’t in love with him, she knew. Five years away from someone meant that you didn’t know them _well_ enough to be in love with them, no matter how you thought you might feel about them. There was a stark difference, however, between _loving_ someone and being _in love_ with them, and Rupert’s declaration had pushed Jenny firmly into that confusing grey area, leaving her breathless and fluttery and _hopeful._

That, she thought, was new.

She got dressed slowly. It was unusual for her. She’d spent the last few weeks moving quickly, terrified of wasting time when things felt so fragile and tenuous. But Rupert’s expression, the warmth in his words, had settled something in her, and so she took her time. He won’t be going anywhere, she thought. He’ll be downstairs, waiting for me, like he said he would.

And he was.

“You look lovely,” said Rupert with a small, sideways grin. “Though I of course wouldn’t have complained if you’d stuck only with the towel.”

“Are you trying to fluster me?” said Jenny, who was hoping against hope that she wasn’t blushing.

“Turnabout, Ms. Calendar, is fair play,” said Rupert, moving over a little on the couch. Jenny sat down next to him. He’d set up a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table, and handed her a glass as she moved in a little closer. “I remember you as having a preference for red. Has that changed?”

“No,” said Jenny simply, taking a sip of her wine.

“So what has?”

Jenny looked up. “Hmm?”

“What _has_ changed?” Rupert moved forward too, their knees bumping together as she turned to fully face him. “I’m sure you’ve heard bits and pieces of our escapades here in Sunnydale from Angel and Faith, but I know absolutely _nothing_ about what’s gone on with you. I’d truly like to hear some of it.”

Jenny gave him a small, nervous smile. “Not a lot,” she said.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” said Rupert, and reached out, taking her free hand in his.

It wasn’t _as_ overt as a hand on her knee, but it got the message across with added tenderness. Very Rupert. Jenny felt her nerves lessen. “I was working with Angel, as you know,” she began tentatively. “It was—I was kind of like his protégé, I think. Or he was mine. I know _somebody_ was the teacher there, but it really varied depending on the day. He would teach me how to throw a punch, and then I’d teach him how to talk to women without getting a drink thrown in his face. We had kind of a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Rupert hesitated. “Perhaps it isn’t my place—”

“You want to know how the hell Angel and I are on okay terms?” said Jenny, smiling wryly.

“I’d like to know how you’re on better terms with Angel than with me,” said Rupert. At Jenny’s raised eyebrows, he let out a breath. “Sorry. That’s—”

“I don’t know if I’d say that Angel and I are on good terms right now,” said Jenny, her smile fading. “But…” She hesitated. “I was in love with you,” she said. “When I left. Like, crazy, ridiculously, madly in love with you, and after I left…” She looked down. Rupert still hadn’t let go of her hand. It gave her the strength to continue. “You hadn’t talked to me in three weeks,” she said. “You were just edging towards forgiving me. I felt like I’d messed all that up so completely by deserting you like I did, and I…I loved you too much to come back and deal with you resenting me again. I think it would have broken me.” She swallowed. “But it kind of broke my heart to leave, so. I don’t know. There really wasn’t a good option there.”

“You should have told me,” said Rupert quietly. “I spent five years believing you _did_ desert me—”

“What, like I didn’t?” scoffed Jenny.

“No,” said Rupert, and took the wine glass from her, placing it down on the coffee table so he could take her other hand in his. “No, you really didn’t. You were scared, Jenny, and—” His voice broke. “And you were in love. And the man you loved had been raking you over the bloody coals for _weeks,_ for no good reason, without any indication of when he might pull his head out of his arse and forgive you for something that was never your fault to begin with—” He laughed, a wobbly, tearful sound. “I suppose,” he said, “that I’ve answered my own question. Angel was there where I was not.”

“Bullshit,” said Jenny. “I was  _scared._ If it hadn’t been for me—”

“If it hadn’t been for _me—_!”

Abruptly, Jenny realized how close they were, and how tightly they were gripping each other’s hands. There were reasons not to kiss him, before, but there weren’t any now.

“Jenny,” said Rupert, his voice softening. He moved forward, just a little bit.

But Jenny still couldn’t bridge that gap. It had been too long, and she had spent too many years hating herself for what she’d done to him. Kissing someone she’d loved for so long didn’t feel like something she’d earned. She pulled back, hating herself _more_ for the flicker of hurt in Rupert’s eyes. “I think the kids will probably be back soon,” she said awkwardly.

“Of course,” said Rupert.

“I’ll—I’ll just—”

“Yes,” said Rupert.

She wanted to kiss him, then, and she could see in his eyes that _he_ wanted her to kiss him, and she _knew_ that if anyone would be doing the kissing, it would have to be her, after that kiss he’d laid on her without warning two nights ago. He’d made his intentions clear—or clearer than Jenny, at least. She was beginning to get the sense that neither of them really knew what they wanted, which was probably part of the problem.

There were a thousand things she wanted to say to Rupert, but they were all wrapped up in years of guilt. Jenny gave him a small, jerky nod, then stood, letting go of his hand and leaving the room.

* * *

The kids came back from their surveillance mission as scheduled, but Buffy was nowhere to be found, and Faith didn’t come back on time. As the kids prepared to head out in search of them both, Rupert was rigid in his insistence that Jenny stay behind: her injury, he pointed out, still hadn’t healed to the point where she would be an efficient fighter in battle. Jenny knew that this wasn’t the case—at its very worst, her injury only twinged a little when she moved too fast—but it was an excuse for her and Rupert to be in different places, so she took it without complaint.

She tried not to think about him, or about how every goddamn conversation they had turned into something painful and raw, or about how fixing their relationship—if such a thing was even possible—might take a _very_ long time. She had had to bury her feelings for Rupert—the love, the guilt, the ache of missing him—and talking to him again brought all of them, violently, to the surface. It was hard to honestly communicate when you were grappling with emotions that had only strengthened in the years gone by.

And she knew that she’d clung to that ideal of him—the tender-hearted gentleman who she had so callously, carelessly ruined. Seeing him as he was now—as he might have always been—was jarring. She’d have to learn to love _him,_ not the version of him she’d idealized over the years.

It was complicated, and messy, and it wasn’t something that she could afford to focus on puzzling out. There was a battle brewing.

_Keep your head in the game, Calendar. Never forget what the stakes are._

* * *

It was almost a relief when the deluge of injured Potentials returned to the house. Jenny threw herself into playing nurse, bandaging girls up, checking injuries, doing her best to utilize the limited resources they had. Rupert had busied himself with carrying Faith upstairs, keeping himself out of her way, and honestly, it _was_ making things a little less complicated. She didn’t have to think about him when he wasn’t in the same room as her, not when she had lots of wounded girls to attend to and comfort and patch up.

She ran into Buffy in the kitchen. “Buffy,” said Jenny, feeling a rush of warm relief. “You’re back?”

Buffy gave her that same small, sad smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Guess you weren’t here for the dressing-down my friends gave me, huh?”

“No,” said Jenny. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t—” She exhaled. “It’s hard,” she said. “I guess I hoped…you know, when I left Sunnydale five years ago, I was hoping you’d all end up happy.”

Buffy shrugged. “We had moments,” she said. “At least, I think we did. It’s hard to remember them now.”

Jenny hesitated, then reached out, taking Buffy’s hand in hers. “I don’t know how much my word means to you,” she said, “but I hope you know that I’m on your side.”

“I don’t think you know me very well anymore, Ms. Calendar,” said Buffy, not unkindly. “I was a much better person back when I was in high school.”

But Jenny thought of Rupert, and the layers upon layers he’d built to keep his heart from breaking again. Something in Buffy’s face, in her eyes, seemed like that kind of armor—protective, and a little bit afraid of getting hurt. “I know what I see,” she said quietly. “And that’s a girl who’s had to make a lot of hard choices when no one else could step up. Maybe you’re not the _same_ person you were in high school, but I’d never say you lost your goodness. You’re here, Buffy. You’re trying. You’re _fighting._ That seems a hell of a lot like goodness to me.”

Buffy’s mouth trembled; her hand tightened around Jenny’s. “You’re nothing like I remember,” she said unsteadily. “I always used to think of you as—as someone who ran when things got too tough. Never someone who might come back.”

“Buffy, I don’t need you to tell me I’m good,” said Jenny gently. “Right now, what I need is for you to know that you have somebody in your corner. Okay?”

Buffy moved forward, hugging her a little awkwardly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Startled, and a little overcome, Jenny hugged her back.

There was a cough from the doorway. Then Rupert said, “Um, Buffy, if you could—get the upstairs bedroom ready for Faith?”

Jenny pulled away from Buffy, turning to look at Rupert. And…god, even with all their unresolved baggage, she could _still_ see the new warmth in his eyes. “Hi,” she said shyly.

Rupert smiled a little nervously. “Hello.”

Buffy looked between them, and slowly, her quizzical expression softened into something almost amused. “Take your time, guys,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of hands on deck, you know.” With a small smile of her own, she moved past Rupert, heading through the dining room and towards the stairs.

“She’s onto me,” said Rupert ruefully. “Listen, I-I have to get Faith upstairs; she’s rather badly hurt.” Upon seeing Jenny’s look, he hastily clarified, “She should recover, just—she needs some care and attention.”

“Don’t we all,” said Jenny, grinning.

Rupert hesitated. Then he said, “Jenny, I-I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, when—”

“Apocalypse,” said Jenny, not unkindly.

“Right,” said Rupert. He didn’t move.

“Faith,” said Jenny.

“Yes,” said Rupert. He lingered for a last, long second, before turning quietly to go get Faith from the car.

Some stuff, apparently, did _not_ change: when all his cards were on the table, Rupert was still _horrible_ at staying away from her. It made Jenny smile a little, even though it definitely shouldn’t have. She rummaged for the bandages in the kitchen cabinet, then headed back out into the living room, prepared to help to the best of her abilities.

“Oh, thank _goodness,_ ” said Anya, grabbing the roll of bandages from her. “I’m fairly certain that this is our last one. We’re probably going to have to start using bedsheets in a few minutes—there are just too many girls wounded for us to do this properly.”

“Are there any other medical supplies in town?” said Jenny doubtfully. “Bedsheets are inventive, but they don’t seem as sterile as bandages.”

“Seconded,” agreed Andrew, who was carefully bandaging another Potential’s arm. “These girls need stitches and painkillers, and we don’t have any of that.”

“Yeah, well, I need a cookie and some actual sleeping space not taken up by wounded infants, but—” Anya began a little waspishly.

“No, I mean it,” said Andrew. “The hospital. It’s probably just as abandoned as that grocery store, and it’s probably _just_ as well-stocked. If we head there—”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Jenny immediately. Anything that got her out of the house was probably a good idea. “Is there a Potential here that’s responsible enough to keep an eye on the rest of the girls?”

“Kennedy can do it,” said Anya thoughtfully. “She’s tough. Are we really doing this?”

“We’re really doing this,” Andrew confirmed. “Let’s motor.”

* * *

After they left the house, it was hard for Jenny to really be distracted by Anya and Andrew’s conversations: their way of coping with the impending apocalypse seemed to be pretending that it wasn’t as serious as it seemed. Lately, though, Jenny had found honesty to be a much more soothing balm—which in itself was pretty ironic. Jenny Calendar, comforted by simple truths? Her special talent was _avoiding_ the truth, not embracing it.

But the thing was, being around Rupert again had forced her to actually start thinking about what she wanted, in a real, long-term kind of way. The history between them made it impossible to keep things light, which meant that stuff buried for half a decade had ended up spilling out on both their parts. And now she was thinking about how Rupert wanted to kiss her, and how he thought it was his fault they’d spent the last five years apart, and how the world might end before she ever plucked the courage up to kiss him again.

“Hey, spacey,” said Anya impatiently. “Help us pack up these bags.”

“Hmm?” Jenny turned.

“There is _something_ on her mind,” said Anya to Andrew. “I can tell. I don’t know what it is, but Willow says she thinks it has something to do with Giles. Did you know they used to date?”

“Yeah, in my freshman year,” said Andrew conversationally. “Everyone was always talking about seeing them making out in the hallway, and Mr. Giles used to close the library down during Ms. Calendar’s free period every Wednesday. He said it was for ‘study hall,’ but we all knew that—”

“Thanks, Andrew,” said Jenny very loudly.

“Oh, look! She’s paying attention!” Anya looked extremely amused. “If we talk more about Giles, will you help us pack these bags?”

“If you _stop_ talking about Rupert, I’ll help you pack the bags,” said Jenny, moving forward to begin indiscriminately shoving boxes of medical supplies into one of the large duffel bags. “There’s an apocalypse on. We have more serious stuff to think about.”

“There’s always an apocalypse on,” said Anya dismissively. “You’ve been in this fight long enough to know that.”

“This one’s a _big_ one—”

“So what?” Anya was beginning to look at Jenny a little differently, now—her gaze was more focused, more considering, like Jenny was something that needed to be puzzled out. “Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses to avoid talking about Giles.”

Andrew coughed very loudly. When this didn’t break the tension, he hurried over to pack medical supplies on the other side of the room.

“Of course I am,” said Jenny, annoyed. “I don’t really feel like talking about him right now.”

“Or at all.”

“Obviously not at all! There’s an _apocalypse—”_

“See, you keep using that like it’s somehow a reason to not talk to Giles,” said Anya, frowning. “But since when has an apocalypse been a reason to not talk to anyone? Seems to me like if the world’s ending, you’d want to resolve as much stuff as you can, right? And if it’s _not_ the end of the world, you’re still going to have to clear the air a little so that you two aren’t  _both_ moping around instead of, say, helping me and Andrew pack the medical supplies.”

“I _am_ helping you pack the medical supplies.”

“We already _have_ bandages.” Anya took out a box of bandages from Jenny’s bag, replacing it on the shelf. “We need the more _vital_ stuff. _This_ is why you need to talk to Giles! Conflict resolution is super important. Take me and Xander. We’re not dancing awkwardly around each other just because we were almost married—”

“I’m sorry, _you_ almost married  _Xander?”_

“—we’re able to have a lot of healthy, strings-free sex because that’s what works for us,” Anya finished, still leveling Jenny with that scary, ageless look. “Do you know what works for you and Giles? Like, do you _actually_ know?”

All that stuff she’d been thinking about _the importance of honesty_ was beginning to feel kind of hypocritical. Jenny couldn’t answer that question with a _yes,_ but couldn’t bring herself to admit to a _no._ “I don’t know your situation with Xander,” said Jenny instead, “but Rupert and I are…we’re different people now. It’s not like I can just work off of what would have worked five years ago and expect—” She stopped.

“What?” said Anya. There was a sharp, smug glint to her eyes—the look of a teacher who knew her student had finally put two and two together.

Slowly, Jenny ran over her thought process. Placing distance between herself and Rupert to keep him safe. Promising herself that there would be time later to make things up to him. Never actually _asking_ him what he wanted, even though some oft-ignored part of her _knew_ that he would want her close to him. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Um—listen, can you guys handle the—can you two do the whole hospital thing? I think I need to get back to—I need to go back home. I forgot. Something.”

“Well, seeing as you’ve been startlingly unhelpful since the moment we arrived here, I don’t think your absence will make much change,” said Anya, in a way that was clearly meant to be encouraging. She patted Jenny on the shoulder. “Leave the medical supplies with us,” she said. “You have something else that you need to mend, I think.”

* * *

By the time Jenny got back to the house, it was an hour to sunset. Buffy was still out—she’d followed a lead discovered by Rupert and Willow—and most of the Potentials seemed to be doing marginally better. Jenny wasn’t sure where Rupert was, and didn’t entirely know what to do if she found him, so she slipped out the back door, intending to spend some time alone on the porch again.

Rupert was there. He turned upon seeing her, eyes wide behind those old, round glasses, and Jenny felt her breath catch in her chest. “Jenny!” he said. “Shouldn’t you still be out with Andrew and Anya?”

Oh, Jenny thought distantly, as she stepped forward, stood on tiptoe, gripped the lapels of his jacket, and kissed him. _That’s_ what she’d do if she found him.

It wasn’t the hard press of lips that their more recent kiss had been; for something borne of a panicked impulse, it was surprisingly gentle. Rupert responded immediately, if somewhat tentatively, hands resting nervously on her waist like he expected her to change her mind at any moment. He still felt the same, Jenny thought, still made the same soft, wanting noises, still melted when one of her hands reached up to cup his face—

Rupert pulled back. He looked a little dazed. “Jenny,” he said softly.

“I’m really, really scared I’ll break your heart again,” said Jenny unsteadily. He deserved the complete and total truth—no matter how scary it felt to finally give it to him. “You didn’t deserve it the first time I did it and you sure as hell don’t now. And I feel like getting to be with you isn’t something _I_ deserve after what I did, so I didn’t kiss you back when I could have, but Anya pointed out at the hospital that I’m pretty functionally useless if I’m mooning over you this entire time—”

“Has _that_ been what’s happening?” Rupert’s stunned expression was softening into a small, sad smile. “Jenny, you—please don’t worry over the state of my heart.”

“Are you saying that I _don’t_ have the potential to break your heart if I fuck this up again?” Jenny persisted. “Because I—” She reached up, hands on his shoulders, trying to stabilize herself by touching him. She wasn’t sure if it was working. “Look, the world ends or it doesn’t, but I _know_ I want to leave it knowing that you’re as happy as you can be. And I thought—most of the time I was here, I thought me being here would just make things worse. But I need—” Her face was wet. Was she crying? “I need you to know that I want you to be happy. More than anything, Rupert, I just—”

“Jenny,” Rupert murmured, and pulled her flush against him, burying his face in her hair. An old, painful ache in Jenny’s chest stopped hurting quite as much.

They stayed like that for a very long time. No one had held Jenny like this in five years—and even then, she couldn’t remember ever letting Rupert comfort her without that pervasive feeling of guilt. She’d been keeping secrets, back then, ones that had made it impossible to feel like he knew and loved the real Jenny Calendar. Now he _did_ know her, the very worst parts of her, and he was still holding her just like he always had.

She raised her head to look at him.

“I’d like you to know something, Jenny,” said Rupert very softly. “When I first saw you, after you’d come up from Los Angeles with Faith and Willow—” He swallowed, eyes wet. “Well. I retreated rather deeply into myself, as you’ll well remember. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how _happy_ you were, all those years ago. It felt like an act of rebellion, you choosing to be so joyful in a town like Sunnydale. And…five years on, you looked just as worn-down and battle-hardened as I felt. I hated that.” His fingers tangled in her hair. “Not that it—I could never care for you any less than I do, Jenny, but I always hoped that, that these last five years, you were at least able to find some semblance of happiness.”

“I was and I wasn’t, you know?” said Jenny quietly. “This life wrecks you after a fashion, even if you’ve got good people by your side.”

“That it does.” Rupert drew his fingers through Jenny’s hair, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I-I know we’re…I know we’ve wasted so much time, Jenny. I’m sorry for that. But if you’re a-amenable, I think I’d like to make the most of what time we have left.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“That is—if you’d like—dear God,” said Rupert, visibly flustered.

“Are you blushing?” said Jenny innocently, trying not to laugh.

“You don’t have to be so _terribly_ awful about this, you know—”

“Well, if I had any idea what you were trying to _ask_ me—”

“I should like,” said Rupert, slow and deliberate, “to take you to one of the nicely deserted houses on this block, where there is most likely a nicely deserted bedroom for us to get more intimately reacquainted. And I should like to—what was that phrase you used, Jenny?—I should like to make you _squirm,_ but I should also like to make you smile, because I don’t think I’ve seen you smile often enough since you’ve arrived here. I want you breathless and laughing and happy. Just as you want me.”


	8. your hands on my skin

They’d been pretty obvious, Jenny thought, but everyone seemed too dazedly occupied with research and apocalypse-related panicking to really pick up on _why_ Jenny and Rupert were slipping out, hand in hand, to spend the night at a house two doors down. Willow had mumbled a grateful thanks in their direction—something about freeing up a little more room for the Potentials—but that, surprisingly, had been the most notice that anyone had took of their situation.

Not that Jenny minded.

“So what’s the plan here, England?” she inquired, leaning on his shoulder. “Break down somebody’s door? Smash a window?”

“Lock-picking,” said Rupert. He had a quiet half-smile on his face, and every time Jenny looked at him—the glasses, the way he held himself, that sweetly happy smile—she felt like she _knew_ him again. His affection for her had been a constant, back when they were dating; it had been something she’d taken for granted. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “I brought a set of tools over from my home in England.”

“Snazzy.” Jenny felt him rest an arm around her shoulder, tugging her into his side as they walked, and she smiled. “Any house in particular you feel like hitting up?”

“Oh, this bit is entirely up to you,” said Rupert. “I’m not at all picky. The _important_ component—” he kissed the top of her head, “is right here with me.”

“Charmer,” said Jenny, and tilted her head up so he could  _really_ kiss her. This felt _so_ good—the banter, the gentle way he held her—and she was starting to finally feel like maybe it didn’t _matter_ whether or not she deserved to have him. Maybe it was just about them getting to make each other happy. “Okay—” She waved a hand vaguely, pointing towards the house they were coming up on. “That one, I guess.”

“As my lady commands,” said Rupert, and tugged her along, steering them up the porch steps of the house Jenny had pointed to. He let go of her at the door, kneeling awkwardly in front of the lock and pulling out a collection of lockpicks. “Just one second—”

“Take your time,” said Jenny. “It’s not like I’ve been waiting five years for this.”

Rupert scoffed. A few more seconds, and the door swung open; he stood, looking _deeply_ self-satisfied. “Seems I haven’t lost my touch—” he began, and then laughed, delighted, as Jenny tackled him in a kiss, pushing him through the doorway and into the wall of the foyer. He was still laughing against her mouth as he pulled her closer; it turned into a soft shudder when she pressed her lips to his neck. "Jenny," he was mumbling, dazedly, happily, “ _Jenny—”_

“Oh my god,” said Jenny, pulling back. The door was still wide open. “Rupert, this place isn’t—we need to do a sweep for vampires before we keep going, right?” Rupert was leaning heavily back against the wall, eyes half-lidded; Jenny recognized that look well enough to know he was functionally useless for at _least_ the next two minutes. She stepped towards the door, shutting it, then considered. “Salt circles do wonders. Do you think they have enough salt in the kitchen?” She glanced towards Rupert, who now had the starry-eyed look of old, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Stop that. Safe sex is seriously important.”

“Yes, quite,” said Rupert, mouth twitching. “Always important to remember the table salt.” He stepped forward, pressing a quick, businesslike kiss to Jenny’s lips. “You check the upstairs for vampires, and I’ll go and fetch enough salt to protect a bedroom?”

Jenny gave him a thumbs-up, then headed upstairs, still a little breathless from their kisses. She’d forgotten—five years, and she’d forgotten how _good_ they’d always been at this. She’d halfway expected it to change, to be somehow less than she’d remembered—but they _were_ different people. They’d both changed. Somehow, it was what made it so easy for them to still work; Jenny strongly doubted that the woman she was now would have fallen for the Rupert Giles of five years ago, or vice versa.

The Rupert Giles of five years ago would never have said a single hurtful thing to Jenny. The Jenny Calendar of five years ago would never have been so honest, so open.

Upstairs, Jenny found no sign of vampires. She opened the door to the master bedroom, considered, then stepped inside, gracelessly pulling her t-shirt over her head and tossing it to the floor. After discarding her jeans, socks, and shoes, she crossed the room to stand in front of the large mirror on the wall near the bed.

She did look different. Older, obviously, but now that she was looking for it, she could also see the places where her five years of endless fighting had left their mark. The four long slashes down her abdomen from an LA demon with unpleasantly thick claws. The long-healed vampire’s bite at her shoulder. The newer not-quite-a-scar from the Bringer’s knife. This was no longer the computer science teacher who would have snapped like a twig under Angelus’s hands, and the loss of that woman—even though she wasn’t someone Jenny would ever want to be again—left her feeling strangely bereft.

Jenny smiled, tiredly, at her reflection. Now wasn’t the time to get maudlin. Tonight was a night of stolen joy, and it would be easy to remember that when Rupert got back upstairs. She crossed the room, then sat down on the bed, lying back against the pillows.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and then Rupert entered the room, holding three very large boxes of salt. “ _Don’t_ laugh,” he was saying, “I’m really rather out of practice in terms of magical protection—” And then he stopped, and looked at her, lips parted, like she was the moon and stars come down to earth.

Jenny felt herself blush. “Oh, stop,” she said, trying to smile. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“That’s not it, Jenny,” said Rupert softly. He stepped towards the bed, opened one of the boxes of salt, turned towards the door, and poured a hasty, messy half-circle out around the bed, mumbling a quiet incantation as he did. When he was done, he set down the box, kicked off his shoes, and clambered onto the bed, positioning himself so that he was straddling Jenny without actually putting any weight on her. Jenny lay back against the pillows again, looking up at him with a slow, delighted smile; Rupert took her face in his hand, tilting her head up so that her eyes met his. “I haven’t seen you like this in five years,” he said, quiet and sure.

“Nearly naked?”

Rupert rolled his eyes a little, smiling indulgently. “Anticipatory,” he said. “Happy.”

“You gonna turn that _anticipatory_ into—” Jenny began, but then he’d captured her lips in _another_ kiss, pulling her into his arms.

He was wearing _way_ more than her, and it seemed patently unfair. Jenny pushed his jacket off his shoulders, then slid her hands up and under his sweater, letting out a disappointed breath when she found his cotton t-shirt. “God, Rupert,” she said, a mixture of irritable and affectionate, “I wore, like, _one_ layer, and I took it _off_ before you even got in the room—”

“Well, pardon _me_ for not stripping in the first-floor kitchen of a house that might have been swamped by vampires,” said Rupert, holding his arms up so that Jenny could tug his sweater over his head. He moved in to kiss her again; she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. _“What?”_

“One more layer,” said Jenny.

“I feel rushed,” said Rupert. “This is extremely unromantic of you.”

“You know what, Rupert,” Jenny informed him, “I haven’t had sex in five years, so I think I’m showing some _remarkable_ restraint not physically ripping your clothing off of you right now—” She stopped, realizing that something in Rupert’s expression had changed. “What?”

“Five years,” said Rupert a little uncertainly. “Do you mean to say—”

Jenny winced, embarrassed. “Look, I—” She exhaled. “Opportunities didn’t come up, for me,” she said. She almost couldn’t look at him. “I was in love with you, and I wasn’t very good at moving on.” She laughed a little bitterly, looking up at him with a tired, self-deprecating smile. “Y’know, if you’d have asked me five years ago which one of us would have done the whole dramatic-pining thing, my money would have been on you.”

Rupert looked thunderstruck, and a little horrified. “Five years,” he said. “Five years you spent missing me, and I—” He swallowed, eyes wet. “And I spent five years _resenting_ you for leaving. Jenny, I—”

Jenny reached up, framing his face with her hands, and pulled him down into a kiss. Rupert rolled them over to avoid pressing her into the mattress, and suddenly Jenny was the one with _all_ the leverage, and honestly, she _very_ much liked it. She sat up, and so did he, leaning back on his elbows to look at her. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and she could see the soft smudge left by her lipstick on his mouth, and he was looking at her with such _longing—_ “I’m here, now,” she said. “Okay?”

Rupert didn’t move. “I was your first,” he said. “Wasn’t I?”

Jenny scoffed. “I’ve had sex before you, Rupert.”

“I’m not talking about sex,” said Rupert. “I was the first person you were ever—” His voice broke. “Ever in love with. And I treated you—as though your love was _nothing,_ as though what you felt for me meant _nothing_ to me, because I didn’t—”

“Because you didn’t _know,_ ” said Jenny fiercely. “I’d never blame you for—”

“You should,” said Rupert. “Not for all of it, I’ll give you that, but those things I said to you on the back porch—”

Jenny swallowed, hard. “I left,” she said.

“Jenny, please, I—” Rupert sat up all the way, shifting her into his lap, taking her hands in his to hold them to his heart. “What you did was five years ago, unintentional, and an attempt to protect yourself,” he said. “What I did was _days_ ago, and I did it because I wanted to hurt you the way you had hurt me. And don’t you _dare_ tell me that that was justified. It was reprehensible, and if we’re to—” He squeezed her hands, taking an unsteady breath before continuing. “If this—between us—is something that can be repaired,” he said, “it has to start from a place where you’re able to hold me accountable for deliberate decisions that end up hurting you.”

Jenny couldn’t look at him.

“Jenny?”

“I deserved—”

Rupert caught her face in his hands and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. The kisses, one after the other, were just as desperate and hard and short as the first one, the one he’d pulled her into before _any_ apologies had been made. But then they started slowing down, becoming softer, more languid, until Jenny really _was_ as breathless as Rupert had said he’d wanted her. He pulled back, but it was only to press his mouth to her neck.

This wasn’t the response that Jenny had been expecting. “Rupert?” Rupert kissed her throat; she took a stuttering breath in. “Rupert, I didn’t—”

“I know you don’t believe me,” said Rupert quietly, raising his eyes to hers. “I know that’s partly my fault. I know you’ve spent—” He swallowed. “Five years hating yourself for what you _thought_ was a moment of carelessness and weakness. But the truth is out, Jenny, all right? I know why you left, and I understand, and I _love_ you. I never stopped.” He gave her a small, shaking smile. “Please,” he said. “Please accept my apology for how terribly I treated you upon your return. Even without my knowing, it was…it was inexcusable.”

He was looking at her with those big eyes, overflowing with helpless adoration. She’d always caved pretty fast when he brought out the puppy-dog eyes, because it was _always_ unintentional and always genuine. Now was no exception.

“Okay,” said Jenny.

Rupert looked honestly startled. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I—” Jenny’s heart was pounding. “Yeah. It was pretty messed up, what you did. I can understand your anger, and you had every right to it, but you didn’t have any right to take it out on me.” Some weight was lifted as she said the words. She knew Rupert saw it, somehow, because she saw the relieved softness to his eyes. “It hurt. Don’t do it again.”

“Never,” said Rupert, a tearful laugh in his voice. “Never, Jenny.”

“And I forgive you,” said Jenny softly, “because you spent five years thinking I never loved you.” Rupert suddenly looked just as thrown off-balance as she’d felt at his own admission; she reached up to stroke his cheek. He leaned towards her touch, eyes still never leaving her own. “So I do kinda get where you’re coming from with the anger and the hurt. I know you don’t blame me for leaving, but Rupert, I could have _told_ you, at _some_ point, why I left. And I didn’t. And I’m sorry for _that._ ”

Rupert gave her a small, unsteady smile. “You know I forgive you,” he said.

“I love you,” said Jenny, barely a whisper.

“I love you,” Rupert whispered back, and he fell back into the pillows as Jenny begun to kiss him again.

And all the guilt and pain and anger she’d been carrying around seemed to dissolve into sand. It just didn’t seem _important,_ anymore, not in the same way as Rupert’s hands on her waist, or her carefully helping him remove his shirt, or any of the moments between that and _them,_ together. Nothing seemed as important as the way it felt to kiss him, to hold him. She misquoted Shakespeare in his ear, a whispered, paraphrased sonnet, and he laughed against her skin.

* * *

“This one?”

“Um,” Jenny shifted, running her fingers along the raised line at her hip, “close call with a sword-wielding maniac.”

“Oh, they have those in Los Angeles too?” Rupert grinned a bit. “We really do lead remarkably compatible lives.” He moved down the bed, pressing a kiss to the scar. “How long ago?”

“I think…” Jenny considered. “Two years? Two and a half? It’s not recent.” She rolled over onto her side. “My turn.”

“All right,” said Rupert, moving back up to face Jenny.

The scar on his chest was new, at least to her. It had healed, but it looked painful, and dangerously close to his heart. “This one,” said Jenny, resting her fingers tentatively against it.

Rupert smiled a little wryly. “An extremely close call with a spear from one of the Knights of Byzantium,” he said. “I very nearly died from that one.”

It didn’t seem entirely real to Jenny—Rupert wounded, Rupert near death—not when he was looking at her just as he always had. She kissed the lingering circle just above his heart, then cuddled into his side. “Your turn,” she said, but her voice was already thick with sleep.

She felt Rupert’s finger brush against her temple.

“Angelus,” said Jenny drowsily. “He threw me against a door. Or—no, he threw my Orb of Thesulah at me, and it cut my forehead. That. Both. Either one.” The terror of that night seemed murky and distant; nothing so real as Rupert’s arm tugging her protectively closer. “That was the night I decided I’d learn how to hold my own,” she said. “On my own.”

“Not on your own, anymore,” Rupert corrected quietly, pressing a firm kiss to the scar at her temple.

Jenny closed her eyes. “No,” she agreed, letting herself drift towards sleep. “No. Not on my own anymore.”

* * *

They woke up at sunrise. One particularly annoying beam of light hit Jenny smack in the face when she opened her eyes. She winced, making a face, and rolled backwards into Rupert, waking him up all the way. He caught her in his arms, nestling her against his chest, and they lay like that for a lot longer than they probably should have, all things considered. There was a battle brewing. They were needed.

Rupert kissed her neck. “Good morning,” he said.

Jenny sighed, smiling. “I wanna wake up like this _all_ the time,” she said blissfully. “You think we can swing back here tomorrow, see if the salt circle keeps us protected?”

“Better that we keep breaking into different houses,” Rupert replied, “so that the local vampires don’t notice an established pattern and—ah—catch us _in flagrante delicto,_ as it were.”

“Mm. Fair point.” Jenny enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her for a few more seconds, then said, somewhat reluctantly, “We should probably get back to Buffy’s.”

“We should,” agreed Rupert, sounding just as enthused about leaving their comfortable nest of blankets as Jenny felt. He kissed the top of her head, then let go of her, clambering awkwardly out of bed to collect his clothing.

Jenny watched him for a moment, smiling, then followed suit. She dressed quickly, checking herself in the mirror again; this time, there were no weighty observations about the woman she had once been. The woman she was looked flushed, and happy. “Do you think I have bed head?”

“Come here,” said Rupert, who had donned his jeans and t-shirt. Jenny did. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing it down. “It’s a bit more manageable now that it’s short, I think, but it still—” He made a strange gesture. “Fluffs up.”

“Whatever,” said Jenny. “It’s pretty obvious what we were up to even _without_ the fluffy hair.” She picked up his sweater from the floor, and while he was putting it on, she found his jacket. “Ready to face the music?”

Rupert grinned. “For _once,_ ” he said, “I’ve made a decision that I rather enjoy being held accountable for.”

“Oh?”

Buttoning up his jacket, Rupert took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I am going to return to Buffy’s home,” he said, “and _everyone_ there is going to know how much I care about you. I think that that’s rather a nice thing for them to know.”

“God, you’re sappy.” Jenny leaned into him, letting him gently lead her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. “You are _so_ lucky I think it’s cute.”

“You just think _I’m_ cute.”

“ _One_ night together and you’re already getting all full of it!”

It was sunny by the time they got outside, in that crisp early-morning way that always served to energize Jenny. Buffy’s house was only a few doors down, which felt so strange. They had felt so far away from everything in that house, last night, and there it was, within walking distance—

Buffy was waiting on the porch. “Where _were_ you guys?” she said somewhat tensely. “When I got back, Willow said you’d gone out—” She stopped, abruptly.

It took Jenny a moment to realize what had given Buffy pause. Slowly, she looked down at her hand, still tucked into Rupert’s. “Oh,” she said. “Um. Listen, Buffy—”

But Buffy’s eyes were now on Rupert. “Giles?” she said.

Rupert was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Jenny divulged to me that Angelus attacked her at the school the night she left Sunnydale. Did Angel ever mention such a thing to you?”

Buffy’s eyes went very wide. She blinked, hard, like she was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Both of you, I—that must have been awful for you, Ms. Calendar, and I _know_ it was awful for Giles. I’m glad you guys worked it out last night.”

Rupert’s face softened. “Thank you.”

Jenny let go of his hand, kissed him on the cheek, and walked quietly up the stairs, brushing past Buffy. She and Rupert were looking at each other with a nervous half-hope, and a moment like that wasn’t one that needed Jenny to be there for it. She looked back, once; Buffy was descending the porch steps, and Rupert was hurrying up to her, that look of tentative apology in his eyes. He glanced at Jenny, just for a moment, and she saw the affectionate tilt to his smile: a wordless _thank you._

Jenny smiled back, and went inside.

* * *

The battle was that day.

And it was strange—but as Buffy laid out their plan, Jenny looked across the room at Rupert, remembered how it had felt to wake up in his arms, and thought: _if that was my last night alive, I think it was one of the best I could have asked for._ She wasn’t scared of dying; not if it meant protecting a world that had finally started to feel a little less desolate, a little less lonely. There was love in this world.

* * *

The potentials were headed towards the basement with Faith and Spike, Willow and Kennedy were preparing to set up a frankly terrifying-sounding spell, and Robin Wood had turned his attention to those unassigned to a fighting area. “Civilians!” he said. “If the vampires get upstairs, we have the areas they could get through to another building and then down into the sewers.” He pointed. “Down the hall in the atrium, the north hall here, and the primary target, through the lounge straight to the science building. Now odds are, most of them will head there.”

“Jenny and I will take the lounge,” said Rupert immediately.

“What—?” said Jenny.

Robin gave Jenny an assessing look. “Can you fight, Ms. Calendar?” he said. “It’s the most important area to defend.”

“I’ve got four years of training under my belt,” said Jenny, crossing her arms.

Robin nodded, turning his attention to the rest of the group. As the others continued to discuss their positions, Rupert turned to Jenny, giving her a small smile. “I hope you don’t mind my commandeering the situation,” he said shyly. “It’s simply that—there’s no one I’d rather have my back than you.”

“Not even super-buff Robin Wood?” said Jenny doubtfully.

“It was well established last night that you can throw _me_ around,” replied Rupert without missing a beat. “I feel quite secure in your ability to efficiently take down vampires without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying that _you’re_ stronger than the vampires we’re about to try and hold off?”

Buffy cleared her throat, but she looked more amused than anything. “Cool it, lovebirds,” she said. “You guys are gonna have to actually fight things, you know.”

“ _Love_ birds?” said Xander significantly.

“Do my ears deceive me?” said Willow, grinning up at Rupert and Jenny. “Are you two back together?”

“Um, who?” said Rupert, with a terrible attempt at nonchalance. “What?”

But Jenny had noticed something else: the children all looked warm, and playful, and just as teasingly amused by Rupert’s love life as she remembered. For the first time since her arrival, she _recognized_ them: Willow biting her lip as she smiled, Xander’s wide, faux-innocent eyes, Buffy trying to pretend at distaste but clearly happy for the both of them. She took this in—took them in—one last time, a last shining moment before the battle began, and she turned to Rupert and kissed him on the cheek.

Willow started giggling and fell sideways into Xander.

“We should get going,” said Jenny, grinning widely. “See you guys after the battle?”

“Bye, Ms. Calendar!” chirped Willow. “Good luck with the vampires!”

Buffy hesitated, then moved forward, sticking out her hand. Surprised, Jenny took it. “I’m glad you’re back,” said Buffy, and gave Jenny a genuine smile. “I hope you guys stick around after this whole thing’s over.”

Jenny didn’t entirely know what to say to that. She managed a smile in return, shook Buffy’s hand, let go to wave at Willow and Xander, and headed down the hall, walking towards the lounge. She turned, once, to look back, and saw Rupert standing with his kids, exchanging words she was too far away to hear by that point.

It wasn’t time to fight just yet. He’d meet her when it was.

Rupert entered the lounge just as Jenny was hefting the broadsword she’d chosen to stab things with. “You look properly terrifying,” he said admiringly. “The Turok-Han will probably turn and run just upon seeing you.”

“Rupert, we’re already sleeping together. You don’t have to lay it on _that_ thick.” Jenny stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips against his. “You ready?”

“I am.”

And they turned away from each other, towards the doors, ready to face the coming fight.


	9. coda: fire from embers

Years later, Giles would still remember how it felt to see Jenny fight for the first time. He’d wanted her with him for reasons both tactical and emotional: if Jenny had been fighting somewhere else, his own ability to defend the lounge would have been impaired by his worry over her. Having her next to him meant he could protect her, to the best of his abilities. But Giles had been thinking of the Jenny Calendar of five years ago, the gentle computer science teacher who wasn’t accustomed to fighting, the woman who _needed_ his protection. And when the Turok-Han were flooding in, when he glanced over his shoulder to check how she was doing, his breath caught in his throat.

Jenny moved fluidly, gracefully, like she was dancing, her short hair flying out around her face. The broadsword sliced through one, two, three Bringers. A Turok-Han reached towards her, snarling, and she cut off its hand. Another clawed at her face; she flinched back, then impaled it with her sword. “RUPERT,” she shouted, “THIS ISN’T A SPECTATOR SPORT!”

“Oh!” said Giles. “Right.” Angling himself so that he was back-to-back with Jenny, he stabbed a Bringer that had been attempting to attack her from behind. “You know, the children—” he sunk his axe into a Turok-Han’s shoulder, “—were talking about going to the mall after all this nonsense. If you like—”

“I’m not _that_ cheap a date,” said Jenny, stabbing a Bringer in the stomach. “You’re going to have to spend more money on me than pizza at the food court.”

“You _have_ changed,” quipped Giles.

Jenny laughed, a _real_ laugh, and it was the most wonderful sound Giles had heard in the world.

Underneath their feet, the ground began to shake, and a Turok-Han bearing down on Giles abruptly turned to dust. The Bringers, too, began to back away, looking as shaken as a bunch of eyeless, soulless semi-demons could manage. He turned, tugging Jenny towards him, and shouted, “We have to get out of here!”

She grabbed his hand, and they ran.

The school was collapsing around them, the ground crumbling under them, sunlight streaming in through cracks in the walls. The rumbling was spreading, growing more intense by the moment, but Jenny’s hand in his filled Giles with a white-hot determination: they were going to live through this. They’d held off the monsters for long enough, and he’d be damned if he let their chances for a _long-_ deserved happy ending get crushed under the rubble of Sunnydale fucking High School.

They reached the entrance to the school, and Giles pushed Jenny out first, looking behind him. Some of the Potentials—not Potentials _now,_ he supposed—were sprinting out as well, and with no small amount of relief, Giles saw that the bus was still where they’d left it. “THIS WAY,” Giles shouted over his shoulder.

Jenny pulled Giles onto the bus. She kissed him, hard, then threw herself over into the driver’s seat, starting the school bus up as their makeshift army boarded at a run. Vi, supporting a bleeding Rona. Xander and Dawn, dusty and bloodied but _alive._ Willow and Kennedy, both _glowing_ with newfound power. Anya and Andrew, both of them holding up a badly-injured but still alive Robin Wood. And—

And—

The school exploded, and Faith tumbled onto the bus. Jenny glanced helplessly over her shoulder at Giles, and he knew she was thinking the same thing as him. “We have to go, Rupert,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Giles felt strangely empty, this time. He supposed he’d gotten quite used to losing Buffy. As Jenny floored the gas, he walked slowly over to her, placing a shaking hand on her shoulder. She was here, he reminded himself. Almost everyone he loved had made it through this last, final battle.

Almost.

The rumbling was more pervasive, now, shaking the entire bus as Jenny continued to drive. It increased in intensity as she neared the city limits, and when Giles looked out the back window, he saw—buildings collapsing, yes, but also—

“ _Buffy,”_ he breathed out, tears of relief stinging his eyes as he watched his Slayer run. She didn’t look frightened, only determined, and every second it became clearer that she _would_ catch up to their bus. Gracefully jumping from building to building, Scythe in hand, Buffy took one last, final leap—and Giles heard the _thud_ on the roof of the school bus. He laughed.

“Rupert?” said Jenny.

“Buffy’s on the roof,” said Giles, almost sobbing. “She’s—thank God, Jenny, she’s all right.”

Jenny reached up towards her shoulder, placing her hand over his. He could see her smiling in the rearview mirror.

“Ease off,” said Faith suddenly. “We’re clear.”

Gracelessly, Jenny stopped the bus, falling back in her seat with a sigh. Giles moved towards her, and—and she was _alive,_ weary and injured but _alive,_ and he pulled her into a fierce hug. She tucked her face into his shoulder; he felt her relax in his arms. “We’re—alive,” he said.

Jenny raised her head, eyes shining. “I really thought I was going to die today,” she said. “I can’t— _believe—_ ”

Giles kissed her, quick and soft. “We should go check in on the others,” he said. “I really would like to see what Sunnydale looks like blown to bits.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be pretty cathartic,” Jenny agreed, letting him help her up.

Buffy _was_ there, and when she saw Giles, she smiled. It wasn’t the warm, sunny smile of her high school days, but it was something—gentler—than the cold wariness she’d been treating him with up until only recently. “Giles,” she said. “Ms. Calendar. Not dead, huh?”

“Dead on my _feet,_ ” said Jenny. “I need, like, two solid months of sleep after this.”

But Giles’s attention was now on the large crater that had once been the town. Grateful as he was for the complete and total nullification of the world’s latest major threat, he still found himself rather confused. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Who did this?”

“Spike,” said Buffy.

The name hung uncomfortably between them.

“I’m sorry,” said Giles quietly. “I am. I clearly should have—should have trusted your judgment on matters regarding him.”

Buffy stepped forward, standing on tiptoe to squeeze Giles’s shoulder. “That old world’s turned to dust, Giles,” she said just as softly. “I think what matters is what we do now, right?”

And Giles looked towards Jenny, her choppy hair and the scar at her temple. The people they’d been five years ago had felt so perpetually present, these last few weeks—the woman Giles had loved and then resented, the man Jenny had hated herself for leaving—but all of a sudden, all that seemed _truly_ important was _Jenny,_ just as she was.

Buffy smiled, like she knew what he was thinking. “Yeah,” she said, and dropped her hand, turning back towards the crater.

Giles turned, fully, towards Jenny's brilliant smile, and he couldn’t think of a word to say. For the very first time, long lives lay ahead of them both. Unencumbered by destiny. Brimming with possibility.

The California sun shone down on them both as he took her hands in his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was planning to spend all summer fussing with the braveryverse, but completely out of the blue, this fic became my summer writing project and the darling of my heart. i spent a very long time thinking about this 'verse; i'm considering returning to it. someday. later. gotta touch base with the braveryverse again.


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